MEMOIR 


OF 


JOHN  AIKIN,  M.  D 


BY  LUCY  AIKIN. 


WITH  A  SELECTION  OF  HIS 


BIOGRAPHICAL,  MORAL  AND  CRITICAL. 


PHILADELPHIA : 

PUBLISHED  BY  ABRAHAM  SMALL. 

1824. 


40o\ 
A5 


CONTENTS. 


^ 


Memoir  of  John  Aikin,  M.  D. 


CRITICAL  ESSAYS  ON  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Account  of  the  Life  and  Works  of  Spen/er,                      -  161 

An  Essay  on  the  Poetry  of  Milton,    -'  -       169 

An  Essay  on  the  Heroic  Poem  of  Gondibert,        -                                      -  196 

Critical  Remarks  on  Drydeu's  Fables,            -  -      216 

Observations  on  Pope's  Essay  on  Man,      -  232 

An  Essay  on  the  Plan  and  Character  of  Thomson's  Seasons,  -      243 

A  Comparison  between  Thomson  and  Cowper  as  Descriptive  Poets,       -  259 

Essay  on  Dr.  Armstrong's  Art  of  Preserving  Health,            -  -      270 

Essay  on  the  Poems  of  Green,       -.--__  283 

A  Critical  Essay  on  Somerville's  Poem  of  The  Chase,  -       293 

'•      An  Essay  on  the  Poetry  of  Goldsmith, 301 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Aphorisms  on  Mind  and  Manners,      -  -                               312 

What  Man  is  made  for         ....  .                          313 

On  the  Touch  for  the  King's  Evil,       -  -       315 

Literary  Prophecies  for  1797,        -  318 

Remarks  on  the  Charge  of  Jacobinism,            -  -      320 

On  the  Probability  of  a  future  Melioration  in  the  Slate  of  Mankind,         -  321 

On  Toleration  in  Russia,          -  ...      332 

Military  Piety,       -  335 

Inquiry  into  the  Nature  of  Family  Pride,        -  -      336 

Apology  for  the  Demolition  of  Ruins,        -  .                                      344 

Inquiry  into  the  essential  Character  of  Man,  -      348 

Thoughts  on  the  Formation  of  Character.  ...            -            355 


iv  CONTENTS. 

On  Self-Biographers,  -                       .  -           -      369 

On  the  attachment  to  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,        -  -           374, 

On  the  Imitative  Principle,     -  377 

Historical  Relations  of  Poisonings,  -            -            384 

A  Word  for  Philosophy,        -  *                  392 

On  Cant,    -  -                        397 

On  Mottoes, -      403 


APPENDIX. 

(A.)  Descriptions  of  Vegetables  from  the  Roman  Poets,  -  409 

(B.)  Biographical  Account  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Enfield,  -      420 

(C.)  Description  of  the  Country  about  Dorking,    -            -  428 

(D.)  Biographical  Account  of  Richard  Pulteney,  M.  D.        -  -      440 

(E.)  Memoir  of  Gilbert  Wakefield,  B.  A.             ....  449 

(F.)  Memoir  of  Joseph  Priestley,  L.  L.D.  F.  R,  S.  -      460 

(G.)  Memoir  of  James  Currie,  M.  D.       -  476 

(H.)  Memoir  of  the  Rev.  George  Walker, 482 


PREFACE. 


A  FEW  words  will  suffice  to  explain  to  the  reader  the 
object  of  the  present  publication,  and  the  plan  on  which 
it  has  been  conducted. 

To  make  known  to  the  world  as  a  man  one  with  whom 
it  had  so  long  been  acquainted  as  an  author,  appeared  to 
the  editor  both  a  due  tribute  to  the  talents  and  virtues  of 
her  father,  and  a  proper  indulgence  of  a  species  of  curi- 
osity not  less  reasonable  than  it  is  natural. 

The  generally  even  tenor  of  Dr.  Aikin's  life,  and  the 
retirement  from  active  pursuits  in  which  the  latter  years  of 
it  were  passed,  seemed  to  her  no  sufficient  objections 
to  making  it  the  theme  of  a  detailed  narration  ; — for,  be- 
sides that  a  man  of  merit,  in  any  class,  and  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, may  be  accounted  a  worthy  object  of  con- 
templation to  his  fellow  men, — it  is  well  known  that  some 
of  the  most  instructive  and  acceptable  pieces  of  biography 
have  been  such  as  derived  their  interest  from  the  unfold- 
ings  of  character  and  sentiment,  rather  than  the  bustle  of 
incident,  or  the  splendour  of  description. 

Nothing,  however,  could  be  further  from  her  design 
than  to  intrude  upon  the  attention  of  the  public  by  the  in- 
troduction of  anecdotes  or  observations  not  strictly  con- 


vi  PREFACE. 

nected  with  the  subject  of  the  memoir,  and  by  which  its 
effect  as  a  moral  portraiture  would  be  rather  weakened 
than  enforced  ;  on  this  account,  only  such  extracts  from 
Dr.  Aikin's  correspondence  have  been  admitted,  as  ap- 
peared essential  to  the  history  of  his  life,  or  the  exhibition 
of  his  opinions  and  feelings  on  important  topics  ;  and  in 
the  composition  of  the  memoir  itself,  a  similar  forbearance 
has  been  exercised. 

But  the  judgments  passed  by  a  man  upon  the  moral 
and  intellectual  qualities  of  those  with  whom  he  lived  or 
acted,  form  a  very  important  feature  in  his  own  character ; 
and  several  such  judgments  of  Dr.  Aikin's  have  here  been 
recorded,  by  appending  to  his  own  memoir  those  biogra- 
phical accounts  of  several  of  the  most  distinguished  of  his 
literary  friends  which  it  fell  to  his  lot  to  compose.  From 
these,  a  competent  idea  may  be  formed  of  his  mode  of 
estimating  various  kinds  of  merit  and  excellence ;  and 
it  is  hoped  that  the  suppression  of  such  proofs  of  his  just 
appreciation  of  living  worth,  as  his  private  letters  and  the 
recollection  of  his  conversation  would  readily  have  sup- 
plied to  the  editor,  will  be  ascribed  to  none  but  its  true 
motives — delicacy  towards  individuals,  and  respect  for 
the  implied  confidences  of  family  intercourse. 

The  remaining  contents  of  this  volume,  consisting  of 
critical  essays  on  several  of  the  English  poets,  and  of  a 
selection  of  miscellaneous  papers,  have  already  appeared 
before  the  public ; — the  essays,  except  that  on  Gondi- 
bert,  in  the  shape  of  prefaces  to  editions  of  the  respective 
poets,-— the  miscellaneous  papers,  as  contributions  to  dif- 
ferent periodical  works.  But  it  was  believed  that  it  would 
prove  agreeable  to  many  readers  to  find  that  which  was 
dispersed,  collected,  and  that  which  was  anonymous, 
avowed ;  and  the  editor  was  solicitous  that  the  know- 
ledge of  what  appeared  to  her  some  of  the  choicest  pro- 


PREFACE.  vii 

ducts  of  her  father's  pen,  should  thus  be  revived  and  ex- 
tended. 

The  subjoined  list  of  Dr.  Aikin's  principal  works  is 
appended  as  a  kind  of  summary  of  his  efforts  in  the  cause 
of  useful  knowledge  and  elegant  literature. 

Observations  on  the  external  Use  of  Preparations  of  Lead,  with 

some  general  Remarks  on  Topical  Medicines. 
Thoughts  on  Hospitals. 
Essays  on  Song- writing,  with  a  Collection  of  such  English  Songs 

as  are  most  eminent  for  poetical  merit. 
Miscellaneous  Pieces  in  prose,  (written  in  conjunction  with  Mrs, 

Barbauld.) 

An  Essay  on  the  Application  of  Natural  History  to  Poetry. 
The  Manners  of  the  Germans,  and  the  Life  of  Agricola,  trans- 
lated from  Tacitus,  with  copious  Notes. 
Translation  of  Baume's  Manuel  de  Chymie. 
Biographical  Memoirs  of  Medicine  in  Great  Britain  to  the  time 

of  Harvey. 

Lewis's  Materia  Medica,  re-edited  with  large  additions. 
A  Manual  of  Materia  Medica. 
England  Delineated. 
Poems. 

A  View  of  the  Character  and  public  services  of  J.  Howard,  Esq. 
Evenings  at  Home,  (written  in  conjunction  with  Mrs.  Barbauld.) 
Letters  from  a  Father  to  his  Son  on  various  topics  relative  to 

Literature  and  the  Conduct  of  Life. 
A  Description  of  the  Country  from  thirty  to  forty  miles  round 

Manchester. 
General  Biography,  in  10  vols.  4to.     (The  articles  marked  .#. 

amounting  to  nearly  half  the  work  ) 
Select  Eulogies  of  the  Members  of  the  French  Academy,  by 

D'Alembert,  translated  ;  with  a  Preface  and  Notes. 
The  Arts  of  Life. 
The  Woodland  Companion,  or  an  Account  of  British  Forest 

Trees. 
Translation  of  Zschokke's  Account  of  the  Destruction  of  the 

Democratical  Cantons  of  Switzerland ;  with  a  Preface  and 

Supplement. 
Letters  to  a  Young  Lady  on  a  course  of  English  Poetry. 


viii  PREFACE. 

Geographical  Delineations. 

Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  Huet  by  himself,  translated  from  the  La- 
tin, with  copious  Notes,  biographical  and  critical. 

Vocal  Poetry.  (A.  much  altered  edition  of  Essays  on  Song-writing.) 

Essays,  Literary  and   Miscellaneous. 

The  Lives  of  John  Selden  and  of  Archbishop  Usher,  with  Bio- 
graphical Notes. 

Annals  of  the  Reign  of  George  III. 

Select  Works  of  the  British  Poets,  with  biographical  and  critical 
Prefaces. 


Stoke  Newiogton,  June,  1823. 


MEMOIR 


OF 


JOHN  AIKIN,  only  son  of  the  Rev.  John  Aikin,  D.  D.  by  Jane 
his  wife,  daughter  of  the  Kev.  John  Jennings,  teacher  of  a  dis- 
senting academy  at  Kibworth,  was  born  at  the  same  village  of 
Kibworth-Harcourt,  in  Leicestershire,  on  January  15, 1747.  His 
father,  whom  he  never  mentioned  but  with  reverence,  was  the  son 
of  a  native  of  Scotland  settled  as  a  shopkeeper  in  London  ;  ori- 
ginally destined  for  a  commercial  life,  he  had  occupied  for  a  short 
time  the  situation  of  a  French  clerk  in  a  merchant's  counting- 
house,  when,  the  air  of  London  disagreeing  with  his  health,  he 
was  placed  for  a  time  as  a  pupil  with  Dr.  Doddridge,  who  suc- 
ceeded Mr.  Jennings  in  his  academy,  and  afterwards  removed  it 
to  Northampton.  In  this  situation  the  bent  of  his  mind  towards 
learning  so  strongly  manifested  itself,  that  he  obtained  his  fa- 
ther's permission  to  change  his  views  and  devote  himself  to  the 
Christian  ministry.  After  finishing  his  course  with  Dr.  Dod- 
dridge, he  completed  with  distinction  an  extensive  plan  of  study 
at  the  University  of  Aberdeen,  and  became  Dr.  Doddridge's  as- 
sistant on  his  return.  A  respectable  congregation  at  Leicester 
soon  afterwards  elected  him  their  pastor;  but  just  as  he  was  en- 
tering upon  the  duties  of  his  office,  a  disease  of  the  lungs  perma- 
nently incapacitated  him  as  a  preacher,  and  rendered  him  a  vale- 
tudinarian for  life. 

B 


10  MEMOIR  OF 

Under  these  unfortunate  circumstances,  no  other  line  of  life 
remained  open  to  him  than  that  of  an  instructor  of  youth ;  and 
after  a  short  period  of  partnership  with  a  gentleman  of  the  name 
of  Lee,  he  married,  and  opened  a  school  of  his  own  at  Kibworth, 
which  his  diligence,  his  learning  and  abilities,  and,  above  all,  the 
excellence  of  his  moral  character,  soon  raised  into  repute.  His 
two  children,  Mrs.  Barbauld  and  the  subject  of  this  Memoir, 
were  born  to  him  while  occupying  this  station  of  modest  useful- 
ness ;  and,  next  to  the  happiness  of  being  the  child  of  such  a 
parent,  his  son  always  esteemed  it  his  highest  privilege  to  have 
been  the  pupil  of  such  a  teacher.  He  would  also  mention  that 
his  father  was  careful  to  guard  him  against  the  peculiar  tempta- 
tions and  inconveniences  attending  the  situation  of  a  schoolmas- 
ter's son ;  strictly  forbearing  to  question  him  on  any  occasion 
respecting  the  behaviour  of  his  young  companions,  and  strongly 
impressing  him  with  the  meanness  of  tale-bearing :  so  completely, 
he  added,  was  he  regarded  as  one  of  the  boys,  that  he  was  more 
than  once  appointed  by  the  rest  to  stand  sentinel  while  they  were 
engaged  in  stripping  his  father's  fruit  trees. 

The  merit  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Aikin  was  at  length  the  means  of 
recommending  him  to  a  situation  more  worthy  of  him.  A  dis- 
senting academy  on  a  liberal  plan  having  been  set  up  at  War- 
tington  in  Lancashire,  the  trustees  invited  him  to  undertake  the 
office  of  classical  tutor;  this  he  accepted,  and  in  the  year  1756 
removed  thither  with  his  family. 

His  son,  though  only  in  his  12th  year  was  so  forward  in  his 
learning  that  he  was  immediately  entered  among  the  students 
and  attended  the  lectures  of  his  father  and  the  other  tutors* 
Three  diligent  years  past  in  this  situation,  enabled  him  to  add  a 
considerable  superstructure  of  various  knowledge  to  the  firm 
grammatical  foundation  previously  laid  at  Kibworth,  and,  what 
was  of  still  more  importance,  imbued  him  indelibly  with  that  love 
of  letters  which  became  at  once  the  ornament  and  safeguard  of 
his  youth,  and  the  occupation  and  solace  of  every  succeeding  pe- 
riod of  his  life.  It  was  intended  by  this  learned  education  to  fit 
him  for  the  study  of  divinity  ;  but  the  weakness  of  his  voice,  and 
perhaps  the  native  vivacity  of  his  temper,  caused  a  change  in  his 
destination  ;  he  made  his  option  in  favour  of  the  medical  profes- 
sion, and  was  in  consequence  articled  to  Mr.  Garthshore,  a  sur- 
geon and  apothecary  in  considerable  practice  at  Uppingham,  in 
Rutlandshire. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  11 

There  was  no  portion  of  his  time  which,  on  the  review  of  life, 
Dr.  Aikin  regarded  with  so  little  complacency  as  the  three  im- 
portant years  he  was  doomed  to  drag  on  in  this  irksome  and  un- 
instructive  situation.  To  have  placed  him  in  it,  he  regarded  as 
an  error  of  judgment  ascribable  to  a  prepossession,  frequent 
among  parents  of  a  serious  turn  and  small  acquaintance  with  the 
world,  to  which  he  observed  that  many  young  men  within  the 
sphere  of  his  acquaintance  had  fallen  lamentable  victims.  This 
prepossession  consists  in  an  undue  preference  of  remote  and  ob- 
scure situations  for  youths  during  the  period  of  apprenticeship, 
as  sheltered  from  the  temptations  of  great  towns  and  cities, 
and  comparatively  favourable  to  innocence  and  virtue.  "  What,'' 
he  would  say,  "  can  you  possibly  do  worse  with  a  youth  than 
send  him,  from  the  comforts  of  a  lettered  and  civilised  home, 
to  a  master,  probably  of  sordid  habits,  in  a  place  where  he 
tan  find  none  but  gross  and  vulgar  company  if  he  seeks  for 
any,  and  where  sotting  and  low  vice  will  be  the  only  pastimes 
offered  him  for  the  amusement  of  his  hours  of  leisure  ?"  Such  a 
situation  nearly,  was  his  own  at  Uppingham,  where  he  did  not 
form  a  single  intimacy.  An  elder  apprentice,  little  congenial  in 
manners  or  studies,  was  the  only  companion  of  his  own  class  that 
the  place  afforded;  the  inn  was  th*»  sole  place  of  social  recrea- 
tion, and  the  landlord's  daughter  "the  Cynosure  of  neighbouring 
eyes."  Nothing  but  his  strong  love  of  literature,  and  the  con- 
scious superiority  with  which  it  already  inspired  him,  could  pro- 
bably have  saved  him  at  this  time  from  sinking  into  a  state  of 
melancholy  listlessness,  though  the  restraints  of  morality  and  re- 
ligion should  have  withheld  him  from  rushing  to  degradation  and 
ruin.  But  this  preservative  proved,  happily,  effectual ;  he  applied 
himself  with  diligence  and  remarkable  success  to  the  business  of 
his  profession,  conciliated  by  his  excellent  qualities  and  pleasing 
manners  the  esteem  and  affection  of  the  family  in  which  he  was 
domesticated,  and  fulfilled  this  period  of  his  probation  creditably, 
if  not  happily. 

The  monotony  of  his  residence  at  Uppingham  was,  however, 
occasionally  broken  by  visits  to  the  neighbouring  town  of  Lei- 
cester, made  under  circumstances  peculiarly  conducive  both  to 
his  pleasure  and  improvement.  Mr.  Pulteney,  a  particular  friend 
of  his  father's,  and,  through  his  introduction,  of  Mr.  Garthshore's, 
a  man  of  a  highly  cultivated  and  philosophical  mind  and  great 
sensibility  of  heart,  was  settled  as  an  apothecary  at  this  place ; 


12  MEMOIR  OF 

and  on  particular  emergencies  he  sometimes  requested  to  borrow 
the  assistance  of  his  friend's  pupil,  Mr.  Aikin.  This  was  always 
granted  with  alacrity  ;  if  Mr.  Pulteney  was  at  home,  his  conver- 
sation was  rich  in  enjoyment  to  a  youth  who  pined  after  the  let- 
tered intercourse  of  his  father's  house ;  if,  as  was  more  frequently 
the  case,  he  was  absent,  Leicester  was  not  destitute  of  a  small 
circle  of  acquaintance  capable  of  affording  him  high  gratification, 
and  in  which  he  was  received  with  distinguished  kindness,  at  first 
for  his  father's  sake,  and  afterwards  for  his  own.  It  was  here 
that  he  first  tasted  the  charms  of  cultivated  female  society,  which 
in  after  life  formed  so  great  a  portion  of  his  enjoyment ;  one  lady 
in  particular,  who,  exemplary  in  the  relations  of  wife  and  mo- 
ther, had  yet  a  heart  for  friendship  and  talents  for  society,  was 
long  his  standard  of  excellence  for  her  sex;  and  it  was  perhaps 
somewhat  owing  to  this  early  impression,  that  he  always  placed 
the  qualities  of  the  understanding  unusually  high  in  his  estimate 
of  female  perfection. 

Mr.  Aikin  had  not  completed  the  third  year  of  his  term  at 
Uppingham,  when  Mr.  Garthshore  made  over  his  business  to  a 
successor,  having  determined  to  take  a  doctor's  degree  at  Edin- 
burgh. He  prevailed  upon  Mr.  Pulteney  to  adopt  a  similar 
resolution  ;  but  as  it  was  this  gentleman's  purpose  to  return  to 
Leicester,  it  was  agreed  that  Mr.  Aikin  should  take  charge  of 
his  patients  during  his  absence ;  and  he  spent  on  this  occasion 
two  or  three  happy  months  in  that  town ;  afterwards,  there  was 
no  adequate  motive  for  his  remaining  at  Uppingham,  and  he  was 
thus  freed  from  his  indentures  two  or  three  years  earlier  than  the 
usual  period. 

At  the  immature  age,  as  he  afterwards  regarded  it,  of  eighteen 
he  was  now  sent  to  pursue  his  medical  studies  at  the  University 
of  Edinburgh,  then  in  high  repute,  and  boasting  the  distinguished 
names  of  Black,  Monro  and  Cullen,  among  its  professors.  This 
was,  on  the  whole,  a  happy  period  of  his  life ;  lie  rejoiced  in  his 
liberation  from  a  state  of  irksome  dependence;  he  was  animated 
by  the  society  of  companions  eager  in  the  same  occupations  and 
;tme  amusements,  and  prone,  like  himself,  to  knit  those 
bonds  of  friendships  which  double  the  pleasures  of  youth,  and 
often  survive  to  soothe  the  cares  of  maturer  life ;  above  all,  he 
entered  with  ardour  into  the  business  of  the  place,  and  daily  saw 
fresh  reason  to  congratulate  himself  on  his  choice  of  a  profession. 
An  agreeable  picture  of  the  state  of  his  mind  at  this  period,  is 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  13 

afforded  by  the  following  passage  of  a  letter  to  his  dearest  friend 
— his  affectionate  and  accomplished  sister  : 

"  This  I  can  assure  you,  I  never  found  study  so  agreeable  to 
me  as  at  present.  I  am  very  much  surprised  the  study  of  the 
structure  and  uses  of  the  parts  of  the  human  body,  is  not  taken 
into  the  plan  of  a  learned  education ;  surely,  no  part  of  know- 
ledge can  be  more  noble  and  entertaining,  and  more  proper  for 
the  employment  of  the  faculties ;  what  a  pity  the  mind  and  body 
should  be  so  little  acquainted  with  each  other!  It  is  indeed  a 
subject  full  of  doubts  and  difficulties ;  but  if  men  of  genius  were 
to  apply  to  it,  I  should  think  great  discoveries  might  be  made. 
I  often  regret  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  not  an  anatomist. 

"  My  only  books  of  amusement  are  the  Latin  poets  ;  and  among 
them  the  elegant  and  tender  Tibullus  is  my  present  favourite. 
I  never  met  with  so  much  softness,  such  inexpressibly  tender 
strokes,  as  in  his  elegies ;  in  my  opinion  there  are  some  single 
lines  of  his  worth  all  the  works  of  all  the  poets  of  his  class  put 
together.  It  is  a  pity  there  is  no  good  translation  of  him  ;  Ham- 
mond indeed  has  taken  a  good  deal  from  him  with  the  true  spirit 
of  the  original.  Of  what  real  consequence,  my  dear  sister,  is 
something  of  a  taste  for  polite  literature!  It  promotes  cheer- 
fulness with  innocence  ;  and  by  that  means  is  an  excellent  guard 
against  running  into  vicious  pleasures,  and  against  being  unfitted 
by  hard  study  and  low  spirits  for  social  life.  Its  chief  fault  is, 
being  apt  to  make  people  vain  ;  and  perhaps  you  will  think  it 
has  had  that  effect  with  me  when  I  tell  you,  that  with  the  means 
of  bread  in  my  hands,  and  pleasure  in  my  head,  1  despise  the 
dull  tradesman  with  his  thousands,  the  country  booby  with  his 
dogs  and  horses;  and,  above  all,  the  mere  town  rake,  whose 
pleasures  are  meaner  and  more  mistaken." 

After  two  winters  and  the  intermediate  summer  spent  in  this 
school  of  medicine,  Mr.  Aikin,  in  May,  1766,  quitted  Scotland, 
and  went  to  pass  a  few  months  of  leisure,  but  by  no  means  of 
idleness,  under  the  paternal  roof.  The  flourishing  state  of  the 
Warrington  academy  at  this  period,  had  redeemed  this  remote 
spot  from  barbarism,  and  rendered  it  a  favourite  haunt  of  the 
muses.  Among  the  students  were  several  youths  of  promising 
abilities  and  ingenuous  manners,  who,  in  after  life,  reflected  hon- 
our on  the  place  of  their  education,  both  by  their  acquirements 
and  their  lasting  attachment  to  their  teachers.  The  tutors  were> 
for  the  mathematics,  Mr.  Holt,  a  man  whose  whole  soul  was  ab- 


14  MEMOIR  OF 

sorbed  by  his  science;  for  modern  languages  and  some  other 
branches  of  knowledge,  Dr.  Reinhold  Forster,  the  naturalist,  who 
afterwards  accompanied  Captain  Cook  in  his  circumnavigation ; 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Aikin,  on  the  death  of  the  celebrated  Dr.  John 
Taylor,  had  succeeded  to  the  post  of  tutor  in  divinity,  and  lec- 
tured with  distinguished  ability  in  ethics  and  metaphysics  as  well 
as  in  theology  ;  and  the  department  of  classics  and  polite  litera- 
ture was  filled  by  Dr.  Priestley.  An  excellent  set  of  lectures  in 
history,  afterwards  published,  was  delivered  by  this  eminent  per- 
son, who  had  also  recently  constructed  his  ingenious  biographi- 
cal chart ;  and,  with  that  versatility  which  distinguished  his  pow- 
erful genius,  was  studying  the  phenomena  of  electricity,  and  com- 
mencing his  original  experiments  on  that  branch  of  natural  phi- 
losophy. The  most  cordial  intimacy  subsisted  among  the  tutors 
and  their  families,  with  whom  also  the"  elder  students  associated 
on  terms  of  easy  and  affectionate  intercourse ;  and  while  the  va- 
rious branches  of  human  knowledge  occupied  their  graver  hours, 
the  moments  of  recreation  were  animated  by  sports  of  wit  and 
ingenuity,  well  adapted  to  nerve  the  wing  of  youthful  genius. 

But  the  claims  of  an  active  profession  quickly  summoned  away 
Mr.  Akin  from  the  tranquil  pursuits  of  learned  leisure ;  circum- 
stances also  required  of  him  the  renewed  sacrifice  of  that  inde- 
pendence which  he  had  enjoyed  under  the  free  system  of  a  Scotch 
university  ;  and  he  submitted,  without  repining,  to  become  once 
more  a  pupil,  under  Mr.  Charles  White,  a  skilful  surgeon  then 
rising  to  eminence  at  Manchester. 

Few  situations  of  the  kind  could  have  been  better  adapted  to 
promote  either  his  improvement  or  his  happiness.  The  extensive 
private  practice  of  Mr.  White,  and  his  connection  with  a  large 
infirmary,  allowed  his  pupil  full  scope  for  that  love  of  employ- 
ment which  marked  him  at  all  periods  of  his  life ;  no  disagreea- 
ble services  of  any  kind  were  imposed  upon  him,  and  he  found 
himself  treated  in  the  family  in  all  respects  as  a  gentleman. 
The  town  of  Manchester*,  also,  afforded  him  respectable  and 
agreeable  society  to  fill  the  intervals  of  business  and  study;  and 
he  had  the  good  fortune  to  form  a  few  congenial  friendships, 
which  ended  only  with  the  lives  of  the  parties.  Among  those 
with  whom  his  connection  was  most  intimate  and  durable,  may 
be  named,  the  late  Mr.  Thomas  Henry,  Mr.  James  Touchet,  the 
late  T.  B.  Bay  ley,  Esq.  of  Hope,  and  the  late  Thomas  PercivaV. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  15 

M.  D.  who  was  previously  known  to  him  at  Warrington,  and  as 
a  fellow-student  at  Edinburgh. 

Professional  pursuits  took  the  lead  with  him  at  this  time  even 
in  his  voluntary  studies,  and  he  mentions  in  one  of  his  letters 
that  he  seldom  transgressed  the  rule  of  occupying  a  portion,  at 
least,  of  each  day's  reading  in  medical  works.  He  translated 
from  the  French  the  whole  of  Pouteau's  Melanges  de  Chirurgie,* 
and  composed  an  Essay  on  the  Ligature  of  Arteries,  afterwards 
published  with  Mr.  White's  Cases  in  Surgery. 

But  the  muses  still  held  divided  empire  in  his  heart ;  his  cor- 
respondence with  his  sister  was  thickly  interspersed  with  criti- 
cal remarks  on  the  Latin  and  English  poets,  not  forgetting, 
among  the  latter,  our  early  English  dramatists,  Massinger,  Shir- 
ley, and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  whom  some  happy  chance  had 
introduced  to  his  acquaintance,  and  for  whom  he  had  the  cour- 
age to  express  all  his  admiration,  at  a  period  when  the  French 
taste  had  banished  them  almost  entirely  both  from  the  stage  and 
the  closet.  He  also  began  to  occupy  himself  in  forming  his  col- 
lection of  the  choicest  songs  in  our  language  ;  and  he  frequently 
exercised  his  own  pen,  both  in  verse  and  prose,  in  translation 
and  in  original  composition,  trying  experiments  in  different 
styles,  treating  a  variety  of  subjects,  and  seeking  to  discover 
where  his  strength  lay.  A  few  of  these  juvenile  effusions  he 
communicated  anonymously  to  a  London  newspaper,  and  thus 
tasted  the  lively  gratification  of  first  seeing  himself  in  print.  To 
his  sister,  the  beloved  confidant  of  all  his  projects,  he  writes  thus 
on  this  subject:  "I  look  upon  these  little  essays  as  the  first 
flights  of  young  birds,  which  give  them  boldness  and  skill  to  take 
hereafter  a  larger  circle.  I  have  a  strong  notion  of  becoming  an 
author  some  time  or  other,  though,  ten  to  one,  without  half  the 
knowledge  of  my  subject  that  my  father  has  of  many  on  which  he 
is  too  diffident  to  give  his  sentiments  to  the  world." 

After  a  residence  of  three  years  in  Manchester,  he  quitted  it 
with  sentiments  of  attachment  to  its  inhabitants  which  never 
forsook  him,  and  which  were  warmly  returned  on  their  parts. 

To  complete  his  preparation  for  practice  in  the  branch  which 
he  had  chosen,  that  of  surgery,  nothing  was  now  wanting  but  an 
attendance  of  a  few  months  on  the  Hospital  Lectures  in  London ; 


*  This  translation  was  never  published, 


16  MEMOIR  OF 

and  thither  he  bent  his  course  in  the  winter  of  the  year  1769,  and 
became  one  of  the  class  of  Dr.  William  Hunter.  His  maternal 
uncle,  Mr.  Arthur  Jennings,  then  resident  in  Bloomsbury  Square, 
offered  him  a  home  in  his  house  during  his  abode  in  London  ; 
and  it  was  to  the  opportunities  of  domestic  intercourse  afforded 
by  this  situation,  that  he  ultimately  owed  what  he  justly  regard- 
ed as  the  prime  blessing  of  his  life — his  marriage.  The  object  of 
his  choice  was  Martha,  youngest  daughter  of  his  worthy  uncle  by 
Martha  Cornwall  his  first  wife;  and  he  quitted  London  in  the 
ensuing  spring,  full  of  those  tender  anticipations  of  conjugal  fe- 
licity which  suited  his  age  and  the  sensibility  of  his  temper,  and 
which,  in  this  instance,  were  destined  to  experience  no  disap- 
pointment ;  and  anxious  only  to  place  himself  as  speedily  as  pos- 
sible in  such  a  situation  as  might  authorise  him  to  claim  the  pro- 
mised prize. 

The  city  of  Chester  was  mentioned  to  him  as  affording  a  fair 
prospect  of  success  in  his  professional  career,  and  thither  he  re- 
paired in  the  autumn  of  1770.  No  proper  efforts  were  wanting 
on  his  part  to  render  himself  known  and  acceptable  in  this  new 
scene  of  action  ;  he  mixed  freely  with  the  good  society  of  the 
place,  enjoying  greatly  the  ease  and  cheerfulness  by  which  it 
was  at  that  time  distinguished  ;  formed  several  respectable  and 
agreeable  intimacies,  and  gave  proofs  of  his  professional  abilities 
by  publishing  "  Observations  on  the  external  use  of  preparations 
of  lead,  with  some  general  remarks  on  topical  medicines ;"  a 
piece  which  speedily  passed  into  a  second  edition,  and  is  still 
esteemed  by  good  judges  a  model  in  its  kind. 

But  he  soon  became  sensible  that  the  ground  was  pre-occu- 
pied  at  Chester  in  a  manner  which  left  no  space  for  the  exertions 
of  a  new  comer  ;  and  after  a  trial  of  somewhat  more  than  a  year, 
he  quitted  the  place.  Warrington,  in  the  residence  of  parents 
whom  he  revered  and  loved,  in  the  pleasing  associations  of  youth- 
ful days,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  academy  with  its  atmosphere 
of  science  and  literature,  possessed  unrivalled  attractions  for 
him ;  whose  worldly  wishes  were  bounded  to  a  modest  compe- 
tence, while  he  sought  his  happiness  in  elegant  and  useful  know- 
ledge, in  the  intercourse  of  a  few  congenial  associates,  and  the 
affection  of  those  connected  with  him  by  the  dearest  ties.  To 
Warrington,  therefore,  he  returned,  where  his  natural  connec- 
tions speedily  introduced  him  to  moderate  business.  In  the 
mean  time,  his  short  residence  at  Chester  had  been  productive 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  17 

of  many  advantages.  Besides  greatly  extending  his  general  ac- 
quaintance in  the  neighbourhood,  it  had  introduced  him  to  some 
peculiarly  valuable  connections.  It  was  there  that  he  first  be- 
came known  to  that  able  naturalist  and  topographer,  that  lively 
writer,  most  agreeable  companion,  and  worthy  man,  the  late  Tho- 
mas Pennant,  Esq.  In  his  various  tours  and  journeys  this  gen- 
tleman frequently,  passed  through  Warrington  during  Mr.  Aikin's 
residence  there  ;  and  he  has  acknowledged  in  print,  the  informa- 
tion which  he  received  from  him  on  his  various  topics  of  local 
inquiry.  An  intercourse  which  was  found  mutually  useful  and 
pleasing  was  not  suffered  to  languish  ;  Mr.  Aikin  willingly  su- 
perintended the  printing  of  such  of  Mr.  Pennant's  works  as  is- 
sued from  Eyres's  press  at  Warrington  ;  and  afterwards,  when 
they  were  more  widely  separated  in  their  places  of  abode,  letters 
were  frequently  exchanged  between  them,  principally  on  subjects 
connected  with  Mr.  Pennant's  various  pursuits.  Into  most  of 
these  Mr.  Aikin  entered  with  deep  interest.  A  value  for  infor- 
mation of  the  kind  which  would  now  be  called  statistical,  was 
early  observable  among  his  predilections,  and  afterwards  produ- 
ced good  fruits  to  the  world.  That  general  taste  for  the  objects 
of  natural  history,  which  was  not  only  a  source  of  pure  and  ele- 
vated enjoyment  to  himself  through  all  the  periods  of  advancing 
life,  but  the  inspirer  of  some  of  the  most  agreeable  and  instruc- 
tive portions  of  his  various  writings,  was  either  first  excited,  or 
at  least  chiefly  fostered  by  his  connection  with  Mr.  Pennant,  and 
the  study  of  his  works. 

It  was  at  Chester,  likewise,  that  he  improved  a  slight  acquaint- 
ance which  he  had  formed  at  Edinburgh  with  his  fellow-student, 
John  Haygarth,  M.  D.  into  one  of  the  most  sincere,  cordial,  and 
valuable  friendships  which  cheered  and  supported  him  through 
his  earthly  pilgrimage; — a  friendship  tried  by  long  years  of  con- 
tinued absence, — by  much  diversity  of  tastes,  pursuits,  and  con- 
nections,— and,  above  all,  by  a  marked  opposition  both  of  politi- 
cal and  religious  sentiments,  when  party  contests  ran  the  high- 
est ;  which,  nevertheless,  through  all  the  mutations  of  half  a 
century,  stood  without  even  a  suspicion  of  insecurity,  and  yield- 
ed at  length  only  to  the  inevitable  stroke  which  levels  all. 

The  distance  between  Chester  and  Warrington,  about  twenty 

miles,  was  unfavourable  to  the  cultivation  of  intimacy  between 

the  medical  friends,  but  they  overcame  the  difficulty  in  great 

measure  by  appointments  at  the  intermediate  village  of  Prods- 

C 


18  MEMOIR  OF 

ham,  where  they  often  enjoyed  a  social  meal,  and  the  delights  of 
a  few  hours  of  the  unreserved  communication  of  sentiments,  opi- 
nions, plans  and  projects.  A  correspondence  was  also  maintain- 
ed between  them  ever  after,  from  which  many  extracts  will  ap- 
pear in  the  progress  of  this  memoir,  the  letters  having  been 
communicated  for  the  purpose  by  their  venerable  and  amiable 
possessor. 

The  first  of  these  epistolary  series  thus  describes  the  feelings 
of  Mr.  Aikin  on  his  change  of  residence :  "  It  was  with  a  heavy 
heart  that  I  took  my  farewel  of  Chester.  On  my  journey  home- 
wards I  turned  to  take  a  last  view  of  it,  and  could  not  help  an 
involuntary  invocation  of  blessing  upon  it ;  I  then  in  a  melan- 
choly mood  jogged  slowly  home.  Chester  has  been  a  coy  but 
very  agreeable  mistress,  whom  I  should  probably  have  courted 

^uccess,  but  that  her  favours  were  already  engaged.     Her 
reserve  began  to  give  way,  and   I  could  have  been  happy 
friend  though   not  as  a  lover;   but  being  determined  to  ta 
partner  for  life,  I  was  obliged  to  offer  to  a  more  homely  but  more 
attainable  nymph.     To  drop  metaphors,  1  shall  ever  think  with 
pleasure  on  my  short  abode  at  Chester,  and  shall  ever  regard 
many  persons  there  \\ith  affection  and  esteem.     To  these  emo- 
tions gratitude  will  be  added  when  I  think  of  my  very  agreeable 
connection  with   Dr.   Haygarth  ;  and  the  acquisition  of  >r. 
friend  would  alone  be  a  compensation  for  the  time  spent  there." 
In  the  same  letter  he  refers  to  the  manuscript  of  a  professional 
work  by  Mr.  White,  which  that  gentleman  luu  :o  the 

unsparing  criticism  of  himself  and  his  friend;  he  also  mer, 
a  pamphlet  of  his  own,  entitled,  Thoughts  on  Hospitals,  \ 

-non  alter  published,  and  well  received  both  by  m 
general  readv 

Almost  at  the  same  time,  early  ir 
solicit  the  notice  of  the  public  in  a  character  which  ho 

-  incompatible  with.his  professional  one — thatofa 
poliU  ul  cultivator  of  elegant  literataro.   H- 

.  small  vu  hi  me,  entitled  Essays  on  Song  Writing:  with  a 

<>f  such  English  Songs  as  u  tmtntntforpo* 

merit.     The>e  MflUftJI  I  in  mim'." 

la  general;  the  other  three  on  the  rcspecmo   Ja-- 

h  the   collection  was   diMrilniu\l  ;    PMtOJ  •     Sol  g9  and  B*i- 
atc   and    Descriptive:    anil    \Vittv    and    In^e 

-  :  they  are  written  with  a  persjncuitv  ami  conccnu'-s  W9T- ' 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  19 

thy  of  the  most  practised  pen,  and  exhibit  that  union  of  sound 
sense  with  native  taste  and  feeling,  heightened  by  classical  re- 
finement, which  is  the  general  character  of  his  critical  works  The 
selection  of  songs  exhibited  some  of  the  brightest  gems  of  Eng- 
lish poetry,  carefully  separated  from  all  baser  substances.  A  se- 
cond edition  of  this  agreeable  volume  was  quickly  demanded; 
and  very  many  years  afterwards,  the  editor  was  prevailed  upon, 
to  re-model  his  youthful  design,  with  considerable  additions  to 
the  collection,  under  the  title  of  Vocal  Poetry.*  It  was  one  of 
the  most  pleasing  circumstances  attending  this  work,  that  it  sug- 
gested to  the  imagination  of  his  sister  her  beautiful  poem  entitled, 
The  origin  of  Song-writing.t 

A  few  months  afterwards,  Mr.  Aikin's  prospects  in  life  ap- 
peared such  as  to  enable  him,  without  more  than  a  due  share  of 
the  sanguine  spirit  of  youth,  to  venture  upon  the  completion  of 
the  dearest  wish  of  his  heart,  and  he  was  accordingly  united  to 
her  who  had  long  bestowed  upon  him  her  warmest  affections. 
Towards  the  conclusion  of  the  same  happy  year,  devoted  to  love 
and  poetry,  he  had  the  high  gratification  of  aiding  his  sister  in 
selecting,  revising,  and  conducting  through  the  press,  her  volume 
of  poems,  which  the  urgency  of  his  entreaties  had  chiefly  prevail- 
ed upon  her  to  give  to  the  world  ; — their  success  proved  equal  to 
their  merit;  and  while  it  justified  the  judgment  of  her  brother 
from  the  imputation  of  partiality,  it  swelled  his  heart  with  the 
purest  emolions  of  delight  and  triumph, 

In  the  following  year,  this  truly  fraternal  pair  appeared  as  the 
joint  authors  of  a  small  volume  of  Miscellaneous  Pieces  in  Prose  ; 
the  first  edition  of  which,  printed  at  Warrington,  was  soon  ex- 
hausted, and  succeeded  by  a  London  one,  published  by  Johnson. 
The  share  of  Mr.  Aikin  in  this  collection  was  considerably  the 
smallest  and  least  important;  the  essay  on  the  heroic  poem  of 
Gondibert,  however,  is  an  elegant  piece  of  criticism,  and  the 
fragment  of  Sir  Bertram  exhibited  inventive  powers  which  he  had 
not  before  displayed :  As  "  Tales  of  Terror"  were  at  this  time 
a  novelty,  it  produced  a  considerable  effect,  and  has  been  many 
times  re-published  by  the  compilers  of  selections. 

The  marriage  of  Miss  Aikin,  in  the  summer  of  1774,  to  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Barbauld,  and  her  consequent  removal  to  Palgrave,  in 


*  One  vol.  12mo.  Johnson,  1810.  f  See  Mrs.  Barbaulcl's  Poems. 


£0  MEMOIR  OF 

Suffolk,  where  a  life  of  active  occupation  awaited  her,  necessa- 
rily dissolved  that  kind  of  literary  partnership  which  subsisted 
between  the  brother  and  sister,  and  to  which  not  only  congeni- 
ality of  tastes  and  pursuits,  but  the  habit  of  daily  intercourse, 
was  essential.  The  pain  of  separation  was  severely  felt  by  both  : 
but  the  resource  of  frequent  and  intimate  correspondence,  ani- 
mated by  occasional  meetings,  remained ;  and  Warrington  still 
afforded  to  Mr.  Aikin,  beyond  the  bounds  of  his  own  family,  one 
dear  and  congenial  friend  with  whom  to  "take  sweet  counsel" 
in  all  that  interested  him,  whether  as  a  man  or  an  author.  This 
friend  was  the  Rev.  William  Enfield,  L.  L.  D.  at  this  time  a  dis- 
senting minister  at  Warrington,  and  one  of  the  tutors  at  the 
academy ;  a  man  esteemed  by  the  public  for  several  useful  and 
acceptable  works,  and  beloved  by  all  who  ever  knew  him.  In 
the  Rev.  George  Walker,  also,  who  had  succeeded  to  the  office 
of  mathematical  tutor  at  the  academy,  Mr.  Aikin  rejoiced  to  dis- 
cover a  man  of  strong  native  genius,  interesting  in  conversation 
by  an  uncommon  flow  of  fervid  eloquence,  proceeding  from  one 
of  the  purest  and  warmest  of  human  hearts. 

Literary  occupation  had  now  become  to  Mr.  Aikin  one  of  the 
habits,  and  almost  the  wants,  of  daily  life ;  and  no  plan  of  origi- 
nal composition  at  this  time  suggesting  itself,  he  undertook  the 
translation  of  Tadtus's  Life  of  Jlgricola,  which  was  printed  at 
Warrington  in  a  remarkably  correct  and  elegant  manner,  toge- 
ther with  the  original  Latin.  For  a  task  like  this,  his  exact 
knowledge  of  the  Latin  language,  and  his  concise  and  energetic 
style,  were  equally  well  adapted;  and  the  success  of  this  first 
essay  induced  him  some  time  afterwards  to  add  a  translation  of 
the  interesting  tract  On  the  Manners  of  the  Germans,  by  the  same 
author,  accompanied  by  an  extensive  selection  from  the  learned 
notes  of  Brotier.  The  two  pieces,  carefully  revised,  were  many 
years  afterwards  re-printed  in  a  single  volume,  which  has  passed 
into  the  fourth  edition  ;  and  it  has  been  much  regretted  by  com- 
petent judges,  that  the  announcement  of  a  translation  of  the  en- 
tire works  of  this  philosophical  historian  by  Mr.  Murphy,  indu- 
ced Mr.  Aikin  to  lay  aside  a  similar  design  which  he  had  formed, 
and  in  which  he  had  made  considerable  progress. 

A  fresh  proof  of  his  industry  and  spirit  of  literary  enter- 
prise, directed  in  this  instance  to  the  advancement  and  diffusion 
of  professional  knowledge,  was  soon  after  afforded  by  the  appear- 
ance of  his  Specimen  of  the  Medical  Biography  of  Great  Britain, 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  21 

with  an  address  to  the  public.  This  was  a  great  and  important 
undertaking,  comprising  a  history  of  the  progress  of  medical  sci- 
ence in  this  island,  with  biographies  of  the  most  distinguished 
practitioners  of  the  healing  art,  and  copious  analyses  of  their 
writings,  with  critical  observations.  The  labour  and  difficulty  of 
the  work  were  much  enhanced  to  Mr.  Aikin,  by  his  provincial 
residence,  remote  from  all  assistance  of  libraries,  public  or  pri- 
vate, and  by  the  ties  of  a  profession  which  forbade  him  to  travel 
in  search  of  documents,  the  perusal  of  which  could  not  otherwise 
be  procured.  His  specimen,  however,  attracted  attention,  and 
he  received  from  several  quarters  useful  suggestions  and  offers 
of  assistance.  The  late  excellent  Dr.  Fothergill  having,  in  his 
summer  residences  at  his  seat  in  Cheshire,  become  acquainted 
with  Mr.  Aikin, — who  always  retained  the  highest  admiration  of 
his  skill  as  a  physician,  and  the  sincerest  esteem  for  his  personal 
worth, — offered  him  books  and  useful  hints,  and  expressed  warm 
interest  in  the  progress  of  the  work.  Mr.  Pegge  forwarded  to 
him,  with  some  rare  black  letter  tracts,  remarks  highly  charac- 
teristic of  his  own  antiquarian  tastes  ;  and  he  entered  into  some 
correspondence  on  the  subject  with  Dr.  Ducarel.  The  late  Mr. 
Falconer,  of  Chester,  communicated  some  learned  remarks. 
Loans  of  scarce  volumes  were  procured  from  the  libraries  of 
some  colleges  at  Cambridge,  and  valuable  assistance  of  various 
kinds  was  contributed  by  Dr.  Haygarth.  Thus  encouraged,  he 
devoted  much  time  and  pains  to  this  pursuit:  buttle  difficulties 
attending  the  investigation  of  the  earlier  and  darker  periods  of 
medical  history  were  found  in  the  end  insuperable ;  and  when, 
five  years  afterwards,  he  published  in  a  single  octavo  volume., 
Biographical  Memoirs  of  Medicine  in  Great  Britain,  from  the  re- 
vival of  literature  to  the  time  of  Hervey,  he  was  obliged  to  explain 
the  causes  of  this  limitation  of  his  plan.  Situated  as  he  was,  he 
found  that  printed  books  were  the  only  documents  to  which  he 
was  able  to  gain  access  ;  this  deficiency,  however,  affected  only 
those  portions  of  his  subject  which  might  be  regarded  as  offering 
least  either  of  amusement  or  instruction,  and  he  still  flattered 
himself  that  he  should  find  sufficient  encouragement  to  carry 
down  his  design  through  periods  of  increasing  light  and  know- 
ledge. But  his  plan  was  met  on  the  part  of  the  faculty,  by  an 
apathy  for  which  he  was  not  prepared  ;  the  topic,  notwithstand- 
ing an  elegant  and  a  popular  mode  of  treating  it,  as  far  as  the 
biographical  part  was  concerned,  was  repulsive  to  general  read- 
ers; and  after  repeatedly  resuming,  and  again  laying  aside  this 


22  MEMOIR  OF 

favourite  task  during  nearly  twenty  succeeding  years,  he  was 
compelled  finally  to  abandon  it,  as  one  which  promised  no  ade- 
quate remuneration  either  in  fame  or  emolument  The  comple- 
ted volume,  however,  has  been  much  prized  by  a  select  few,  and 
the  idea  of  continuing  the  work  has  several  times  been  entertain- 
ed by  persons  not  sufficiently  informed,  perhaps,  of  the  accumu- 
lated obstacles  which  overcame  the  resolution  of  the  original 
projector. 

The  following  account,  of  his  various  pursuits,  occurs  in  a  let- 
ter to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Barbauld  written  in  the  summer  of  1775 : — 
"  Many  a  vain  wish  have  I  formed  since  your  last  visit,  that  the 
pleasures  we  derived  from  your  company  might  have  been  more 
durable.  This  desire  has  more  particularly  recurred  during  the 
solitary  state  of  our  academical  secession,  in  which  our  social 
circle  has  been  for  the  most  part  contracted  within  the  narrow 
bounds  of  oar  two  families.  However,  with  business,  books,  a 
wife  and  children,  I  should  be  unreasonable  to  complain  of  ennui; 
and  I  have  taken  the  most  effectual  method  to  keep  it  off  by  being 
pretty  fully  employed  in  my  grand  scheme,  which  goes  on  briskly 
and  prosperously.  Dr.  Fothergill,  who  has  been  down  here,  ap- 
proves it  and  offers  me  his  assistance ;  and  my  more  intimate 
friends  of  the  faculty  all  encourage  me  to  go  on  with  spirit. 

"  1  have  lately  been  writing  the  life  of  a  very  extraordinary 
man,  Sir  ITiomas  Browne,  the  famous  Norwich  physician,  and 
author  of  Rdigio  Medici.  Did  you  ever  read  this  singular  book  ? 
If  not,  I  dtsire  you  and  my  sister  would  immediately  do  it  and 
give  me  your  opinions  concerning  it.  It  has  all  the  spirit  and 
eccentricit)  of  uncommon  genius.*' 

In  September,  1776,  he  thus  records  the  progress  of  his  plans  : 
— "  I  have  a  terrible  heap  of  old  books  to  look  over,  and  need  not 
want  a  fresh  supply  when  they  are  done  with ;  for  Dr.  Darwin  of 
Litchfield  has  sent  me  word  that  if  I  will  send  an  ass  with  a  pair 
of  panniers,  he  will  load  him  with  old  books  of  physic,  bought  at 
two-pence  a  pound. 

"I  have  just  finished  for  our  composition  club,  a  paper  of  Re- 
marks on  Inconsistencies  in  some  of  Shakespeare's  characters. 
What  heresy  !  you  will  say.  It  is  a  sort  of  bold  stroke,  I  must 
confess  ;  but  I  was  provoked  past  endurance  at  finding  some  of 
the  Scotch  writers,  Richardson  in  particular,  quoting  Shakes- 
peare for  any  fact  in  the  history  of  the  human  mind  like  gospel ; 
and  philosophising  away  upon  any  sentiment  of  this  poor  player's 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  23 

as  if  he  had  all  the  schools  of  all  the  philosophers,  ancient  and 
modern,  in  his  head.  Shakespeare  is  a  poet, — let  him  not  be  de- 
graded into  a  mere  moralist.  I  can  lose  myself  in  ecstasy  in  his 
Enchanted  island  or  forest  of  Arden,  but  I  cannot  allow  his  Rich- 
ard to  be  a  true  Macchiavel,  or  his  Hamlet  a  model  of  virtuous 
feeling." 

The  life  of  Agricola  had  been  designed  by  Mr.  Aikin  partly 
as  a  proof  of  his  own  skill  as  a  translator,  partly  as  a  specimen 
of  "  a  Warrington-printed  classic,'*  and  the  accuracy  with  which 
it  had  been  executed  by  Mr.  Eyres,  encouraged  him  to  try  ano- 
ther experiment  of  the  same  kind.  It  was  his  fondness  for 
natural  history  which  on  this  occasion  directed  his  choice  of  an 
author,  and  produced  the  plan  thus  unfolded  in  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Barbauld. 

"  Did  you  ever  read  Pliny's  Natural  History  ?  I  have  a  scheme, 
as  indeed  I  am  never  without  one,  of  selecting  some  of  the  more 
entertaining  and  unexceptionable  parts  of  his  account  of  ani- 
mals, of  which  there  is  a  good  deal  very  elegant  and  pleasing, 
and  making  a  school-book  out  of  them.  My  father  and  several 
friends  approve  of  it,  if  it  can  be  made  worth  while.  But  Pliny 
is  a  difficult  author,  and  many  schoolmasters  would  not  perhaps 
trust  themselves  with  him.  If  this  objection  were  obviated,  to 
be  sure  the  subject  of  the  book,  teaching  things  as  well  as  words, 
and  things  more  accommodated  to  the  taste  and  capacity  of  boys 
than  the  general  subjects  of  school-books,  would  make  the  publi- 
cation very  desirable.  Pray  give  me  your  free  opinion  upon  the 
matter/' 

The  selection  appeared  soon  after  in  a  thin  duodecimo ;  and 
Mr.  Aikin  thought  himself  fortunate  in  prevailing  upon  his 
learned  father  to  contribute  a  short  Latin  preface,  composed 
with  such  fullness  of  meaning  and  such  an  elegant  purity  of 
language,  as  to  have  called  forth  extraordinary  commendations 
from  a  living  scholar  of  first  rate  eminence.  A  selection  of  en- 
tire pieces  from  Seneca,  and  a  complete  edition  of  the  works  of 
Statius,  were  afterwards  printed  for  the  use  of  schools  by  Byres 
under  Mr.  Aikin's  superintendence. 

Jin  Essay  on  the  application  of  Natural  History  to  Poetry, 
printed  in  1777,  was  Mr.  Aikin's  next  contribution  to  the  amuse- 
ment and  instruction  of  the  public ; — to  please  and  to  profit  to- 
gether was  indeed  the  general  aim  of  his  writings,  and  the  mode 


24  MEMOIR  OF 

by  which  he  effected  this  double  purpose  is  well  exemplified  in 
the  instance  before  us. 

The  sciences  which  he  chiefly  pursued, — those  founded  on 
experiment  and  the  investigation  of  nature, — unlike  the  mathe- 
matics and  the  more  abstruse  questions  of  metaphysics,  easily 
lend  themselves  to  an  alliance  with  polite  literature ;  they  sup- 
ply rhetoric  with  metaphors  and  illustrations,  and  poetry  with 
simile  and  description,  and  derive  lustre  in  return  from  a  mode- 
rate and  judicious  employment  of  the  ornaments  of  cultivated 
diction.  This  he  early  perceived  ;  and  nothing  is  more  observ- 
able in  a  large  portion  of  his  works  than  the  blending  of  various 
branches  of  natural  knowledge  with  the  elegancies  of  literature ; 
while  the  spirit  of  philosophical  criticism  presiding  over  the 
whole,  deduces  its  principles  and  suggests  it  reflections,  now 
from  the  discoveries  of  science,  and  now  from  the  creations  of 
genius. 

The  Essay  is  dedicated  to  Mr.  Pennant,  from  whose  works  its 
original  idea  and  some  of  its  most  valuable  materials  are  stated 
to  be  derived.  It  begins  with  taking  notice  of  the  frequent  com- 
plaint of  the  general  insipidity  of  modern  poetry  ;  and  rejecting 
the  discouraging  theory  of  a  general  decay  of  genius,  finds  the 
solution  of  the  fact  in  that  prevalent  imitation  of  preceding  poets 
which  takes  place,  among  their  successors,  of  original  observa- 
tion, and  the  exercise  of  invention.  Novelty  of  subject,  he  pro- 
nounces to  be  the  present  requisite,  and  he  recommends  that  it 
should  be  sought  among  "  the  grand  and  beautiful  objects  which 
nature  every  where  profusely  throws  around  us ;  and  which, 
though  the  most  obvious  store  of  new  materials  to  the  poet,  is  that 
which  of  all  others  he  has  most  sparingly  touched.''  In  illus- 
tration of  the  habit  of  successive  c6pying  which  has  long  prevail- 
ed, he  adduces  several  instances,  from  writers  of  high  name  j  but 
speedily  quitting  this  more  beaten  ground,  he  proceeds  to  offer 
examples  of  another  fault,  the  vagueness  and  indistinctness,  and 
sometimes  the  inconsistency  and  absurdity,  which  the  neglect  of 
the  st\idy  of  actual  nature  has  introduced  into  poetical  descrip- 
tion. A  discussion  follows  of  the  "false  representations  of  na- 
ture which  ancient  error  or  fable  first  introduced,  but  which, 
having  been  made  the  foundation  of  ingenious  figures  and  pleas- 
ing allusions,  the  poets  of  every  age  have  adopted."  These,  not 
without  some  graceful  expressions  of  reluctance  and  regret,  are 
at  length  condemned ;  on  the  principle,  that  "  nothing  can  be 


DR.  JOHN  A1KIN.  25 

really  beautiful  which  has  not  truth  for  its  basis/'  and  on  the 
further  considerations  of  "the  boundless  variety  of  genuine  beau- 
ties, applicable  to  every  purpose  of  ornament  which  nature  libe- 
rally scatters  around  us,"  and  of  "the  danger  of  suffering  false- 
hood and  error  habitually  to  intrude  even  in  matters  of  the 
slightest  importance.'*  It  is  also  well  observed,  that  "  a  modern 
writer  can  lose  nothing  by  this  rigour ;  for  since  both  true  and 
false  wit  have  been  so  long  employed  upon  these  topics,  every 
thing  brilliant  or  ingenious  which  they  can  suggest,  must  long 
since  have  been  exhausted ;  and  the  revival  of  them  at  present 
is  as  much  a  proof  of  barren  invention  as  of  false  taste.'' 

After  a  few  more  observations  on  the  defects  usually  discover- 
able in  poetical  compositions,  which  the  accurate  and  scientific 
study  of  nature  might  obviate,  the  essayist  proceeds  to  the  more 
pleasing  task  of  pointing  out  the  beauties  which  the  poet  may 
derive  from  this  source.  He  observes,  that  "  all  parts  of  nature 
do  not  seem  equally  capable  of  affording  poetical  imagery.  The 
vegetable  creation,  delightful  as  it  is  to  the  senses,  and  extensive 
in  utility,  yields  comparatively  few  materials  to  the  poet,  whose 
art  is  principally  defective  in  representing  those  qualities  in 
which  it  chiefly  excels  ;  colour,  scent,  and  taste.  The  mineral 
kingdom  is  still  more  sterile  and  unaccommodated  to  descrip- 
tion. The  animal  race,  who,  in  common  with  their  human  lord 
and  head,  have  almost  universally,  somewhat  of  moral  and  intel- 
lectual character;  whose  motions,  habitations,  and  pursuits,  are 
so  infinitely  and  curiously  varied  ;  and  whose  connection  with 
man  arises  to  a  sort  of  companionship  and  mutual  attachment; 
seem  on  these  accounts  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  purposes  of 
poetry.  Separately  considered,  they  afford  matter  for  pleasing 
and  even  sublime  speculation  ;  in  the  rural  landscape  they  give 
animation  to  the  objects  around  them  ;  and  viewed  in  compari- 
son with  human  kind  they  suggest  amusive  and  instructive  les- 
sons." Accordingly  it  is  from  zoology  that  the  subjects  of  the 
remaining  part  of  the  essay  are  almost  exclusively  derived. 

Two  sets  of  examples,  connected  by  critical  and  didactic  ob- 
servations, are  here  produced, — passages  in  various  poets  de- 
scribing objects  of  natural  history, — and  passages  in  the  works 
of  naturalists  and  travellers  capable  of  affording  fresh  topics  for 
poetical  employment.  Of  these  it  need  only  be  here  remarked, 
that  Homer  and  Virgil  among  the  ancients,  and  Milton,  and 
above  all  Thomson,  among  the  moderns,  are  the  chief  sources  of 
D 


20  MEMOIR  OF 

the  first  class,  while  a  pretty  considerable  range  of  writers,  witi> 
Pliny  and  Pennant  at  their  head,  furnish  contributions  to  the  se- 
cond. The  Essay  as  a  whole  is  elegant  and  pleasing  in  design, 
and  the  novelty  of  the  topic  recommended  it  to  many  readers  ;  in 
execution  it  might  doubtless  have  been  improved  by  the  employ 
ment  of  more  time  and  research  in  the  consultation  of  different 
authors  ;  and  it  is  principally  on  account  of  its  connection  witk 
the  state  of  poetry  and  of  the  study  of  natural  history  at  the  pe- 
riod of  its  production,  that  this  early  effort  deserves  particular 
notice  in  the  biography  of  its  author. 

The  recent  deaths  of  Goldsmith,  Collins,  and  Gray,  had  nearly 
reduced  the  English  muses  to  silence,  and  the  pause  gave  full 
leisure  to  suggest  new  experiments,  whether  in  the  topics  or  in 
the  structure  of  verse.  The  "tune"  of  Pope  had  palled  upon  the 
public  ear,  and  of  a  succession  of  lyric  poets  there  could  be  little 
hope,  considering  the  extreme  difficulty  of  this  style  ;  Thomson 
alone,  of  all  the  recent  models,  appeared  likely  to  reward  the 
particular  study  of  the  rising  generation  of  poets  ;  for,  as  his 
chief  merit  lay  in  the  vigour  and  freshness  of  his  painting,  no 
one  could  hope  to  emulate  his  fame  without  studying  directly 
from  nature.  But  probably  this  very  necessity,  combined  with 
a  certain  uncouthness  in  the  manner  of  this  great  writer,  had 
discouraged  in  a  considerable  degree  the  efforts  of  imitators,  and 
no  school  of  descriptive  poets  had  yet  been  formed.  But  many 
causes  were  secretly  conspiring  to  excite  that  passion  for  natu- 
ral scenery,  and  all  the  objects  connected  with  rural  life,  by 
which  Englishmen  are  now  distinguished  above  the  members  of 
any  other  civilised  community;  and  those  who  first  began  to  cul- 
tivate an  intimacy  with  the  works  of  nature,  soon  enjoyed  the 
satisfaction  of  witnessing  the  extensive  success  of  their  efforts 
for  the  diffusion  and  advancement  of  their  favourite  studies. 
Mr.  Aikin,  among  others,  proved  a  prosperous  missionary  in  the 
cause  ;  and  though  I  would  by  no  means  affirm,  that  it  was  at  his 
suggestion,  in  the  essay  before  us,  that  succeeding  poets  began 
to  tread  in  the  path  there  indicated,  it  was  at  least  a  striking 
confirmation  of  the  justness  of  his  taste  and  judgment,  to  find 
them  seeking  and  attaining  novelty,  beauty,  and  grandeur  by 
following  that  very  course.  Two  men  of  extraordinary  genius, 
Cowper  and  Darwin,  arose  within  a  few  years,  who,  with  the  ut- 
most diversity  in  all  other  points,  agreed  however  in  drawing 
largely  from  the  well-heads  of  natural  history ;  and  the  anxious 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  27 

researches  of  a  latter  school  of  poets  seem  now  to  have  left  few 
of  its  springs  untasted. 

Few  things  could  have  been  more  welcome  to  Mr.  Aikin, 
while  his  mind  was  yet  warm  with  the  ideas  which  had  produced 
his  last  piece,  than  the  request  which  he  received  from  a  Lon- 
don bookseller,  to  compose  an  essay  on  Thomson's  Seasons, 
to  be  prefixed  to  an  ornamented  edition  of  the  work.  He  flew 
to  his  task  with  that  alacrity  of  spirit  which  is  the  best  omen  of 
success;  and  certainly  not  one  of  his  critical  pieces  better  ful- 
fils the  true  purposes  of  these  prefatory  essays, — those  of  un- 
folding, in  a  luminous  and  elegant  style,  the  plan  and  scope  of 
the  author, — pointing  out  his  characteristic  excellencies  with 
just  discrimination,  and  heightening  the  relish  of  his  beauties  by 
supplying  the  various  accessary  ideas,  which  suggest  themselves 
spontaneously  to  the  mind  of  the  accomplished  scholar  alone ; 
but  which,  when  offered  to  them  in  a  clear  and  popular  manner, 
are  capable  of  greatly  enhancing  the  enjoyment  even  of  common 
readers. 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  enter  into  further  particulars  res- 
pecting a  piece  which  is  included  in  the  present  volumes;  but 
one  observation  seems  to  be  required.  Had  Cowper's  Task  been 
then  given  to  the  public,  a  comparison  of  this  writer  and  Thom- 
son, as  descriptive  poets,  would  in  all  probability  have  formed  a 
part  of  the  essay  on  the  Seasons.  It  so  happens,  that  this  very 
subject  was  many  years  afterwards  taken  up  by  the  author,  in  a 
paper  communicated  to  a  periodical  work ;  and  that  paper  will 
here  be  found  appended  to  the  essay. 

At  the  period  of  which  we  are  speaking,  the  system  of  Lin- 
nseus  was  making  rapid  progress  in  this  country;  his  arrange- 
ment of  plants,  in  particular,  was  attentively  studied  and  gene- 
rally adopted  :  fresh  activity  was  thus  communicated  to  the  pur- 
suit of  botany,  which,  since  the  death  of  the  excellent  Ray,  had 
remained  in  a  rather  neglected  condition,  and  several  works  of 
merit  in  this  branch  of  natural  history  were  produced.  Hudson's 
Flora  Jlnglica  was  first  printed  in  1762,  and  again,  with  great 
additions,  in  1778;  Lightfoot's  Flora  Scotica  was  given  to  the 
public  through  the  generous  exertions  of  Mr.  Pennant  in  1777, 
and  Dr.  Withering's  Botanical  Description  of  British  Plants 
made  its  appearance  in  1776.  By  some  one  of  these  publica- 
tions, but  most  probably  from  the  last  mentioned,  Mr.  Aikin  was 
inspired  with  a  taste  for  this  delightful  study,  which  his  previous 


28  MEMOIR  OF 

love  and  knowledge  of  the  works  of  nature  in  other  departments 
peculiarly  fitted  him  to  imbibe.  Its  effects  upon  his  mind  are 
thus  warmly  celebrated  by  his  own  pen,  in  one  of  his  letters  to 
his  son.  ..."The  study  of  English  botany  caused  several  sum- 
mers to  glide  away  with  me  in  more  pure  and  active  delight  than 
almost  any  other  single  object  ever  afforded  me.  It  rendered 
every  walk  and  ride  interesting,  and  converted  the  plodding 
rounds  of  business  into  excursions  of  pleasure."  To  which  it 
may  be  added,  that  as  he  communicated  a  greater  or  less  share 
of  this  taste  to  most  of  his  own  family,  and  to  several  of  his 
friends,  it  became  an  additional  source  of  social  sympathy  and 
domestic  enjoyment.  Independently  of  what  he  has  written 
professedly  on  botanical  subjects,  his  works  are  often  enriched 
by  illustrations,  remarks  and  allusions  which  prove  his  intimate 
acquaintance  with  this  branch  of  knowledge  ;  and  among  his  pri- 
vate papers,  some  interesting  records  exist  of  the  characteristic 
manner  in  which  he  pursued  it.  In  a  calendar,  beginning  in  the 
spring  of  1778,  and  regularly  carried  on  for  six  years,  the  names 
and  habitats  of  all  the  plants  which  he  observed  are  noted,  with 
the  respective  periods  of  flowering,  in  the  different  years,  of  many 
common  species,  both  wild  and  cultivated  ;  notices  of  the  pro- 
gress of  vegetation,  which  he  seems  afterwards  to  have  employed 
in  his  little  work  for  young  people,  entitled  The  Calendar  of  Na- 
ture. An  elegant  fragment  of  a  poem  in  blank  verse,  called  The 
Botanic  Walk,  indicates  his  constant  endeavour  to  associate 
poetry,  like  a  beloved  mistress,  with  all  his  favourite  studies;  a 
propensity  which  is  further  attested  by  a  very  pleasing  collection 
of  passages,  selected  from  the  Latin  poets,  relating  to  forest- 
trees,  accompanied  by  remarks,  tending  to  show  the  superior 
merit  and  accuracy  of  these  writers,  as  observers  and  describers 
of  natural  objects.* 

It  also  appears,  that  he  did  not  acquiesce  without  a  struggle 
in  the  adoption  of  the  artificial  system  of  arrangement  laid  down 
by  Linneeus.  The  natural  methods  of  some  preceding  botanists 
possessed  much  superior  attractions  for  one  who  was  more  in- 
clined to  take  a  large  view  of  the  vegetable  economy  as  a  whole, 
itself  making  a  portion  ~of  a  greater  whole,  than  to  descend  to  the 


*  This  collection  he  afterwards  formed  into  a  set  of  papers  which  appeared  in  the 
Gentleman'!  Mn«:,zinr  in  the  years  1786  and  1787,  and  will  be  found  in  the  Appen- 
dix. (A) 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  29 

minute  details  of  classes  and  genera  ;  and  he  carefully  examined 
and  analysed  for  his  own  use  the  classifications  of  Haller  and 
Jessieu.  But  further  experience  of  the  great  convenience  of  the 
Linnsean  system  to  the  practical  botanist  reconciled  him  to  its 
use,  without  however  blinding  him  to  its  defects,  and  his  mature 
judgment  upon  it  appears  in  the  Letter  to  his  son  on  Classifica- 
tion in  Natural  History.  The  following  remarks,  however, 
which  he  never  made  public,  seem  to  possess  some  interest  as  a 
specimen  of  the  manner  in  which  his  understanding  exercised 
itself  on  the  principles  of  the  Swedish  naturalist. 

"  Linnseus,  in  his  Philosophia  Botanica,  lays  down  the  follow- 
ing proposition:  'The  essence  of  VEGETABLES  consists  in  the  FRUC- 
TIFICATION; the  essence  of  the  FRUCTIFICATION,  in  the  FLOWER 
and  FRUIT  ;  the  essence  of  the  FLOWER  in  the  ANTHERA  and  STIG- 
MA ;  the  essence  of  the  FRUIT  in  the  SEED.' 

"  In  the  beginning  of  the  same  chapter,  he  defines  the  fructifi- 
cation to  be  a  temporary  part  of  vegetables,  appropriated  to  ge- 
neration. But  how  can  what  is  temporary  be  essential. 

"  If  by  the  essence  of  a  thing  be  meant  that  which  causes  it  to  be 
recognised  for  what  it  is,  (and  we  cannot,  perhaps,  arrive  at  a 
clearer  idea  of  essence,)  a  number  of  parts  or  qualities  must  be 
taken  into  consideration,  each  of  which  is  as  essential  as  ano- 
ther ;  and  essence  will  consist  in  their  permanent  and  constant 
union  in  the  same  subject.  Thus,  for  a  tree  to  be  known  as  an 
oaky  it  is  as  essential  that  it  should  have  a  particular  kind  of 
bark,  manner  of  growth,  grain  of  wood,  shape  of  leaf,  &c.  as  that 
it  should  bear  acorns.  Nay,  the  latter  is  in  common  estimation 
the  least  essential  of  all ;  since  it  takes  place  during  a  small  por- 
tion of  the  year,  and  in  many  individuals  does  not  happen  at  all. 
Linnaeus  himself,  too,  in  his  characters  of  species  (which  alone 
are  real  existences)  is  obliged  to  take  in  other  circumstances  to 
those  of  the  fructification,  in  order  to  mark  them  out.  Thus,  the 
Querctts  Robur  (Common  Oak)  is  not  only  a  plant  with  such 
and  such  parts  of  fructification,  according  to  the  generical  des- 
cription, but  with  leaves  sinuated  in  a  particular  manner ;  other- 
wise, according  to  his  system,  it  might  be  a  holm-oak  or  a  cork- 
tree. But  a  woodman  will  distinguish  it  even  without  leaves,  by 
its  bark  and  wood. 

"  The  proposition  of  Linneeus  is  only  then  to  be  understood 
with  regard  to  his  own  system ;  and  not  without  some  latitude, 
even  of  that.'* 


SO  MEMOIR  OF 

The  social  temper  of  Mr.  Aikin  rendered  him  eager  to  com- 
municate to  others  a  fondness  for  those  pursuits  from  which  he 
derived  his  own  amusement  and  instruction.  That  very  eminent 
botanist,  Mr.  Markham  Salisbury,  then  a  student  at  Warrington 
academy,  was  primarily  indebted  to  him  for  his  love  of  the  sci- 
ence. A  very  distinguished  lover  of  nature,  no  less  than  of  art 
and  literature,  Mr.  Roscoe,  caught  from  him  the  same  taste ;  and 
the  following  extract  from  a  letter  to  Dr.  Haygarth,  written  after 
a  little  excursion  which  they  had  made  together  in  Wales,  proves 
the  zeal  of  his  friend  to  enlist  him  also  in  the  cause : 

"The  remembrance  of  our  delightful  ramble  has  been  a  store 
of  pleasure  to  me  ever  since,  unalloyed  by  any  bad  consequen- 
ces from  it,  either  with  respect  to  business  or  health.  I  never 
was  so  little  fatigued  with  a  long  ride.  Most  of  my  moun- 
taineers survive  their  change  of  climate.  Greatly  do  I  wish  that 
you  were  not  only  almost  but  altogether  a  botanist.  We  could 
negotiate  the  cleverest  exchanges  of  plants  and  observations,  and 
plan  the  most  charming  summer  meetings !  I  will  be  bound  to 
furnish  your  rock  completely  at  once,  and  then  let  them  call  it 
a  stone  heap  that  dare.  I  will  venture  to  try  a  botanical  com- 
mission or  two  upon  you,  chiefly  to  oblige  you  to  turn  your  at- 
tention that  way. 

"  When  you  ride  next  over  the  hill  above  Broughton,  be  so 
good  as  to  'light  and  search  for  a  little  Campanula,  a  very  small 
plant  with  a  blue  flower,  either  the  Campanula  uniflora  or  hede- 
rifolia,  which  1  found  growing  plentifully  there.  And  when  you 
are  at  Ruthin,  visit  the  castle,  where,  among  several  other  un- 
common plants,  you  will  find  plentifully  growing  out  of  the  walls 
an  odd-smelling  aromatic  plant,  of  the  mint  or  basil  kind,  with 
little  red  flowers  in  whirls,  which  I  want  much,  especially  as  I 
don't  know  what  it  is.  The  seeds  will  do  as  well  or  better  than 
the  roots  of  both  these." 

Jt  is  now  time  to  advert  to  the  other  objects  which  about  this 
time  exercised  the  activity  of  a  mind  which  proved  its  vigour  by 
its  versatility.  In  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Barbauld,  dated  in  February 
1777,  is  the  following  passage : — "  We  have  a  work  now  in  Eyres's 
press  which  will  I  think  establish  the  reputation  of  its  author  as 
the  best  man,  if  not  the  most  elegant  writer  in  England.  It  is 
the  benevolent  Mr.  Howard's  account  of  Prisons,  a  subject  which 
he  has  for  some  years  pursued  with  a  spirit  and  assiduity  that 
looks  scarcely  of  a  piece  with  any  thing  else  to  be  met  with  in 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.     »J  31 

this  degenerate  age.  Nothing  but  his  book  can  give  a  proper 
idea  of  the  dangers  and  fatigues  he  has  gone  through  in  his  truly 
patriotic  design.  He  has  been  here  superintending  the  printing, 
for  three  or  four  weeks,  and  will  stay  as  much  longer.  I  have 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  every  day,  being  his  corrector  and 
revisor  and  so  forth.  It  will  be  a  large  quarto,  not  ill  written., 
and  though  containing  a  good  deal  of  dry  matter,  yet  on  the 
whole  very  interesting,  if  not  entertaining." 

Thus  then  was  commenced  an  intercourse  which  Mr.  Aikin 
always  accounted  among  the  most  interesting  and  honourable 
circumstances  of  his  life,  as  it  led  to  his  long  and  confidential  in- 
timacy with  that  truly  great  man,  the  philanthropic  Howard,  whom, 
he  loved  and  honoured  during  his  life,  and  whose  memory  he 
celebrated  and  protected  after  his  death.  Further  notices  of  this 
excellent  person  will  occur  in  the  course  of  this  narrative ;  at 
present  we  proceed  with  the  literary  journal  of  the  immediate 
subject  of  this  memoir.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barbauld  having  no  child 
of  their  own,  had  prevailed  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Aikin  to  make 
over  to  them  one  of  theirs  as  an  adopted  son ;  for  this  favoured 
child  Mrs.  Barbauld  composed  her  well  known  "Early Lessons;'' 
when  completed,  they  were  committed  to  her  brother  to  be  con- 
ducted through  the  press ;  his  judgment  upon  their  merits,  long 
since  confirmed  by  the  public,  is  thus  expressed  : — "  The  little 
book  you  have  sent  for  Charles  is  what  a  person  of  real  genius 
alone  could  have  written ;  and  so  far  from  degrading  Mr.  Eyres's 
press,  I  sincerely  believe  it  has  never  been  employed  about  so 
really  useful  a  work,  all  its  metaphysics,  divinity,  philosophy, 
and  even  poetry  not  excepted."  "  I  never,"  he  adds,  "  knew  my 
time  more  fully  taken  up  than  at  present,  so  various  are  my  oc- 
cupations of  reading,  writing,  lecturing,  curing,  &c.  &c.  Thomson 
has  not  yet  got  into  the  press,  nor  have  I  near  finished  my  essay. 
It  is  a  most  laborious  piece  of  composition ;  vastly  more  than  I 
expected.  I  shall  not  set  about  it  in  good  earnest  till  I  am  re- 
minded by  the  little  black  gentleman  of  the  press  with  the  usual 
cry  of '  Sir,  we  want  copy.'  " 

"  You  once  asked  me,  in  relation  to  my  extracts  from  Pliny, 
'  If  these  are  your  true  stories,  where  are  your  lies  ?'  This  I 
mean  to  show  you,  being  now  engaged  in  a  fair  translation  of 
the  zoological  books  of  his  Natural  History,  to  which  Mr.  Pen- 
nant is  to  contribute  notes.  What  think  you  of  the  venom  of  the 
basilisk  being  so  potent,  that  when  one  of  them  is  killed  by  a 


32  MEMOIR  OF 

man  on  horseback,  the  poison  ascends  through  the  spear,  and 
kills  not  only  the  man  but  his  horse  too  ?  To  tell  the  truth,  I 
am  almost  ashamed  to  set  my  name  to  some  of  his  old  wives' 
tales.  But  'tis  Latin,  so  it  may  pass." 

This  translation,  however,  was  not  completed ;  in  a  following 
letter,  he  thus  refers  to  it: — "A  pretty  scheme  enough  in  idea, 
but  on  actually  going  strait  forwards  with  my  author,  I  am  almost 
disgusted  by  his  errors  and  old  woman's  fables.  Surely  the 
world  is  full  enough  of  falsehood  and  nonsense  without  adding 
such  stuff  to  the  mass.  Moreover,  I  find  on  examination  that 
Pliny  has  copied  almost  all  his  truths  from  Aristotle,  and  was 
no  observer  himself.  So  I  believe  if  I  can  get  off  handsomely  I 
shall  drop  the  scheme,  though  I  have  done  something  consider- 
able in  it." 

The  "  lecturing"  mentioned  in  the  list  of  his  engagements  was 
the  delivery  of  a  course  of  chemistry  to  the  students  of  the  War- 
rington  academy.  The  subject  at  this  period  occupied  much  of 
his  attention ;  he  made  many  experiments,  in  conjunction  with 
one  of  the  elder  students,  whom  he  had  inspired  with  equal  or 
superior  ardour  in  the  same  pursuit;  and  he  undertook  a  transla- 
tion of  Baume's  Manuel  de  Chymie,  published  in  1778.  Four 
.years  afterwards,  he  printed  Heads  of  Chemistry  for  the  use  of 
his  class.  For  the  use  of  another  class,  to  whom  he  then  gave 
lectures  in  anatomy,  he  likewise  printed  A  Sketch  of  the  Animal 
Economy,  and  afterwards  a  Latin  translation  of  it  with  additions. 

Educated  in  that  strong  attachment  to  the  House  of  Hanover 
which  was  peculiarly  characteristic  of  the  Protestant  dissenters 
during  the  reigns  of  the  two  first  Georges,  Mr.  Aikin  had  con- 
tinued up  to  this  period  of  his  life,  an  ardent  rather  than  dis- 
criminating lover  of  his  country  and  admirer  of  the  British  Con- 
stitution ;  a  patriot  of  that  class  who,  while  participating  with 
the  warmest  filial  interest  in  all  the  fortunes  of  their  country, 
find  themselves  little  disposed  to  exercise  a  critical  judgment 
upon  the  wisdom  or  rectitude  of  those  counsels  by  which  her  af- 
fairs are  conducted.  The  glories  of  the  war  commenced  in  1756 
had  warmed  his  imagination  as  a  child  ;  and  it  seems  never  to 
have  occurred  to  him  to  ask  himself  whether,  amid  so  much  to 
flatter  national  vanity,  any  tendencies  might  be  discerned,  in  the 
policy  pursued  by  the  Government,  dangerous  to  public  liberty 
and  the  common  good.  In  the  beginning  of  that  memorable  con- 
test which  terminated  in  the  independence  of  the  North  Amen- 


DR.  JOHN  A1KIN.  35 

can  colonies,  the  ingratitude  and  undutifulness  of  these  meta- 
phorical children  towards  a  parent  who  had  nourished  and  pro- 
tected them  in  infancy,  had  strongly  affected  his  feelings,  in  com- 
mon with  those  of  the  great  mass  of  the  English  people,  and 
during  the  first  years  of  war,  no  one  was  a  more  firm  upholder 
of  the  justice  of  that  measure.  But  the  further  progress  of  events, 
and  the  free  discussions  of  fundamental  principles  which  it  call- 
ed forth,  produced  a  gradual  but  complete  and  permanent  revo- 
lution in  his  opinions  on  these  subjects.  The  change  is  dated 
by  a  letter  to  his  sister  as  having  taken  place  in  the  year  1778. 

From  this  period  lie  became  a  strenuous  supporter  of  the  cause 
of  civil  liberty,  in  whatever  quarter  of  the  world  her  banner  was 
displayed  ;  to  that  cause  he  often  devoted  the  service  of  his  pen, 
and  sacrificed  in  many  important  circumstances  his  worldly  in- 
terests ;  it  was  an  attachment,  in  fact,  which  might  truly  be  said 
to  have  given  its  colour  to  the  whole  of  his  remaining  life,  and 
it  is  therefore  important  to  have  marked  exactly  the  time  and 
manner  of  its  commencement.* 

Of  his  literary  occupations  in  the  year  1779,  he  gives  the  fol- 
lowing details  : — "  I  have  got  some  of  the  books  I  wanted  for  the 
Medical  Biography,  and  so  am  pushing  on  to  the  end  of  the  first 
volume,  which  will  come  out  this  winter.  Another  piece  of  busi- 
ness just  coming  upon  me  is  the  revisal  of  Mr.  Howard's  Appen- 
dix to  his  Book  on  Prisons, — the  fruit  of  another  very  extensive 
foreign  tour  which  this  good,  this  glorious  man  has  taken  in  pur- 
suit of  his  very  humane  and  important  object.  He  is  just  now 
arrived  here,  and  will  be  in  Warrington  during  the  whole  print- 
ing of  his  work,  which,  as  there  is  to  be  a  second  edition  of  the 
whole  too,  will  be  several  weeks.  You  will  perhaps  have  seen 
in  the  papers  his  appointment  to  the  office  of  one  of  the  super- 
visors of  the  Penitentiary  Houses  for  Criminals  to  be  erected  by 
act  of  parliament.  This  is  a  very  happy  appointment  for  the 
public  :  for  himself,  he  has  refused  any  salary  or  gratuity  for  his 
trouble,  as  likewise  have  his  two  colleagues". 

His  close  connection  with  the  Warrington  academy  at  this 
period,  rendered  its  affairs  highly  interesting  to  him ;  and  in  the 
summer  of  1779  an  addition  was  made  to  the  number  of  tutors, 
which  proved  one  of  its  most  valuable  accessions.  The  Rev.  Dr. 


*  See  a  Lelter  on  the  Attachment  to  Country  in  Dr.  Aikin's  Letters  to  his  Son 
vol.  i. 

£ 


34  MEMOIR  OF 

Aikin, — that  title  he  had  lately  acquired  by  diploma  from  the 
Scotch  University  at  which  he  had  studied, — had  sustained  for 
several  years  the  double  office  of  tutor  in  divinity  and  in  classics; 
— but  increasing  infirmities  now  compelled  him  to  discontinue 
his  lectures  in  the  latter  branch,  and  the  trustees  of  the  institu- 
tion were  reluctantly  compelled  to  seek  for  a  successor.  The 
place  of  Dr.  Aikin  could  not,  it  was  found,  be  adequately  sup- 
plied in  the  class  of  dissenting  ministers,  who  were  usually  much 
better  versed  in  studies  strictly  professional  than  in  the  litera- 
ture of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome.  In  this  dilemma  it  fortunately 
occurred  to  Dr.  Priestley,  as  Mr.  Aikin  writes  to  his  sister,  "  to 
make  inquiries  in  a  new  tract, — among  the  clergy  who  were  dis- 
satisfied with  the  Church,  and  would  not  disdain  an  alliance  with 
dissenters.  Dr.  Jebb  strongly  recommended  a  Mr.  Wakefieldf 
now  officiating  at  Liverpool  as  a  curate  ;  and  on  further  inquiry- 
he  had  the  amplest  testimonials  for  extensive  learning,  candour, 
and  morals.  On  mentioning  the  thing  to  him,  he  seemed  pleased 
with  the  proposal,  and  the  trustees  on  their  part  unanimously 
concurred  in  wishing  him  to  come."  "  We  like  him  much,'* 
adds  Mr.  Aikin,  "  on  sight  and  conversation,  and  there  is  every 
reason  at  present  to  hope  that  he  will  prove  a  valuable  acquisi- 
tion to  the  academy  and  to  our  circle.  My  father  has  conceived 
a  very  high  opinion  of  him.'*  Thus  auspiciously  commenced  the 
connection  of  that  virtuous  man  and  accomplished  scholar,  the 
late  Gilbert  Wakefield,  with  Warrington  and  with  a  family  since 
bound  to  his  by  closer  and  by  dearer  ties. 

The  sentiments  of  reciprocal  esteem  and  affection  excited  in 
the  bosom  of  Mr.  Wakefield  towards  his  new  associates,  will  best 
be  collected  from  the  following  passage  of  his  interesting  and  in- 
genuous Memoirs  of  his  own  life.  "  I  reflect  to  this  day  with  a 
pensive  pleasure  saddened  by  regret  on  the  delightful  converse, 

'  That  feast  of  reason  and  that  flow  of  soul,' 

which  I  enjoyed  with  my  colleagues ;  especially  at  a  weekly 
meeting  holden  alternately  at  the  house  of  each  other,  and  ren- 
dered still  more  agreeable  by  the  occasional  accession  of  some 
congenial  spirit,  resident  on  the  spot,  or  casually  introduced  as  a 
visitor : 

Ttcurn  etenim  Inngns  memini  consumrre  soles — 
While  summer  suns  roll  uujKiceived  away." 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  35 

He  adds,  lt  We  once  made  an  attempt  to  form  another  society 
at  Warrington  merely  literary,  consisting  of  Dr.  Enfiekl,  the 
present  Dr.  Aikin,  and  myself,  and  an  assortment  of  the  superior 
students :  at  which  every  member  was  to  produce  in  his  turn 
some  composition  in  prose  or  verse,  upon  a  subject  of  criticism, 
philosophy,  or  taste.  I  never  relished  this  sort  of  meeting,  in 
which  set  speeches  were  expected  ;  but  was  happy  enough  when 
conversation  glided,  by  a  natural  and  unprepared  course,  into  a 
literary  channel.  We  soon  gave  it  up.'? 

Not  long  was  this  delightful  society  permitted  to  remain  entire. 
The  constitutional  maladies  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Aikin  continued  to 
gain  ground  upon  his  feeble  frame  ;  and  scrupulously  apprehen- 
sive of  retaining  the  office  of  instruction  under  any  diminution  of 
the  powers  of  active  exertion,  he,  in  the  summer  of  the  year  1780, 
gave  in  his  resignation  of  the  tutorship  in  divinity,  which  he  had 
hitherto  retained.  The  Rev.  Dr.  Clayton,  of 'Liverpool,  was  ap- 
pointed to  succeed  him  ;  but  not  being  prepared  immediately  to 
commence  his  course,  Dr.  Aikin  had  agreed  to  go  on  to  the  end 
of  the  academical  sessions.  But  this  undertaking  it  was  not  per- 
mitted to  him  to  complete  ; — an  acute  attack  of  a  single  day  and 
night  was  sufficient  to  exhaust  his  small  remains  of  strength,  and 
terminated  his  career  on  December  14,  1780.  The  feelings  of 
one  of  the  most  dutiful  and  affectionate  of  sons  on  this  trying 
occasion,  may  best  be  collected  from  his  own  expressions  on  an- 
nouncing the  sad  and  sudden  event  to  his  beloved  sister. 

"  That  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  world  has  been  thus  easily 
removed  from  a  state  of  pain  and  infirmity,  his  usefulness  and 
even  his  enjoyments  not  failing  till  the  last  day  of  his  life,  his 
breast  serene,  his  prospects  bright — can  certainly,  on  his  own  ac- 
count, be  in  no  respect  a  subject  of  grieving.  But  we — my  dear 
sister — what  have  not  we  lost !  The  best  parent,  the  wisest 
counsellor,  the  most  affectionate  friend,  every  thing  that  could 
command  love  and  veneration,  united  in  him  we  possessed, — and 
him  we  have  lost.  Our  consolation  must  be  in  a  grateful  sense 
of  the  blessings  we  have  left,  which  are  numerous  enough  to  de- 
mand our  warm  and  cheerful  acknowledgments." 

In  a  second  letter,  giving  an  account  of  the  funeral,  these  re- 
flections are  added.  "  Thus  the  painful  scenes  have  been  gone 
through  by  us ;  and  I  trust  will  soon  leave  little  more  than  a 
tender  regret  for  our  loss,  rendered  not  unpleasing  by  the  re- 
flection of  the  hopes  to  which  our  deceased  parent  succeeds,  to- 


36  MEMOIR  OF 

gether  with  the  universal  esteem  and   affection  he  has  left  im- 
printed on  the  minds  of  all  who  knew  him." 

The  following  short,  but  expressive  tribute  to  the  character 
of  this  revered  parent  also  accurs  in  Dr.  Aikin's  Letters  from  a 
Father  to  his  Son: — "From  every  thing  I  have  seen  of  the  world, 
I  am  convinced  that  more  is  to  be  done  towards  obtaining  hap- 
piness in  general,  and  its  precious  ingredient,  freedom  of  action, 
in  particular,  by  contracting  the  bounds  of  our  wishes,  than  by 
the  utmost  extension  of  our  powers  in  filling  a  plan  of  unlimited 
enjoyment.  This,  I  believe,  is  not  fashionable  doctrine,  but  it  is 
that  which  the  experience  of  my  own  heart  suggests.  It  would 
too,  I  am  sure,  have  been  supported  by  the  suffrage  of  your 
grand  father,  whose  memory  I  know  you  so  justly  revere. 
Though  by  no  means  what  would  be  called  a  high  spirited  man,  he 
preserved  during  life  an  honourable  independence,  by  the  simple 
method  of  making  nothing  essential  to  his  happiness  which  did 
not  come  within  the  reach  of  his  useful  and  low  priced  services. 
I  wish  you  better  health,  stronger  spirits,  and  perhaps  more  en- 
couragement from  the  world  than  he  had ; — more  knowledge, 
superior  talents,  higher  worth,  and  a  more  truly  philosophical 
temper,  I  need  not  wish  you,  though  paternal  affection  is  little 
inclined  to  be  a  niggard  in  its  wishes.*'* 

A  more  elaborate,  and  I  believe  a  very  resembling  portrait  of 
this  admirable  person  is  found  in  Mr.  Wakefield's  Memoirs, 
where  he  describes  the  characters  of  his  Warrington  colleagues; 
and  the  insertion  of  it  in  this  work  will  not  be  regarded  as  a 
digression  by  the  reader  who  duly  estimates  the  weight  of  pa- 
rental instructions  and  example  in  th«  formation  of  character. 

"  Our  Divinity  tutor,  Dr.  Aikin,  was  a  gentleman  whose  en- 
dowments as  a  man  and  as  a  scholar,  according  to  my  sincere 
judgment  of  him,  it  is  not  easy  to  exaggerate  by  panegyric.  In 
his  life  he  was  rigorously  virtuous,  and  when  I  knew  him,  under 
as  perfect  a  self  government,  as  a  participation  of  human  weak- 
nesses can  well  allow.  He  has  acknowledged  to  me  his  irascible 
propensities  in  early  life,  and  the  difficulties  which  he  had  en- 
countered in  the  dicipline  of  his  temper.  Religion  had  brought 
every  wayward  idea  and  irregular  passion  into  subjection  to  the 
laws  of  reason,  and  had  erected  her  trophy  in  the  citadel  of  his 


*  Letter  on  Independence. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  57 

mind.  The  high  esteem  and  even  veneration  in  which  I  held 
him,  received  some  abatement,  I  must  candidly  acknowledge, 
several  years  after  his  decease,  on  hearing  from  a  friend  at  Not- 
tingham, of  unquestionable  veracity,  who  had  formerly  been  his 
scholar  at  Kibworth  in  Leicestershire,  some  mortifying  instances 
of  severity  in  the  castigation  of  his  pupils.  And  should  a  histo- 
rian, faithful  to  his  trust,  suppress  the  relation  of  this  blemish, 
compensated  by  such  various  and  exalted  excellencies? 

velut  si 
Egregio  inspersosreprendas  corpore  nsevos.* 

"As  his  whole  conduct  was  strictly  moral,  so  the  influences  of 
religion  upon  his  mind  were  permanent  and  awful.  He  was  bene- 
volent and  candid  in  all  his  judgments  upon  the  character  of 
others  :  of  great  hospitality,  as  I  myself  experienced  :  quick  to 
discern,  and  ready  to  acknowledge,  true  merit  wherever  it  re- 
sided :  not  tenacious  of  his  own  opinions,  but  patiently  attentive, 
beyond  almost  any  man  I  ever  knew,  to  the  reasonings  of  an 
opponent :  perfectly  open  to  conviction :  of  an  affability,  soften- 
ed by  a  modest  opinion  of  himself,  that  endeared  him  to  all :  and 
a  politeness  of  demeanour  seldom  found  even  in  an  elevated 
station.  His  intellectual  attainments  were  of  a  very  superior 
quality  indeed.  His  acquaintance  with  all  the  evidences  of  reve- 
lation, with  morals,  politics,  and  metaphysics,  was  most  accurate 
and  extensive.  Every  path  of  polite  literature  had  been  travers- 
ed by  him,  and  traversed  with  success.  He  understood  the 
Hebrew  and  French  languages  to  perfection ;  and  had  an  inti- 
macy with  the  best  authors  of  Greece  and  Rome,  superior  to 
what  I  have  ever  known  in  any  dissenting  minister  from  my  own 
experience.  His  taste  for  composition  was  correct  and  elegant : 
and  his  repetition  of  beautiful  passages,  though  accompanied 


*  Let  me  be  permitted,  however,  in  opposition  to  the  report  of  the  "  Nottingham 
friend,"  whom  my  father  said  he  well  remembered  as  the  most  unpromising  and 
disobedient  boy  in  the  whole  school, — to  relate  the  following  incident,  which  I  never 
recal  without  deep  emotion  : — About  eleven  years  ago,  being  on  a  visit  at  the  house 
of  a  particular  friend  fat  York,  I  met  with  a  gentleman  who,  on  learning  of  what 
family  I  was,  begged  to  introduce  himself  to  me  as  Mr.  John  Coltman  of  Leicester, 
and  thfcs  addressed  me  :  "  My  father  was  a  scholar  of  your  grand  father  at  Kil;- 
worth  ;  and  acquired  from  him  that  love  of  reading  which  was  ever  after  his  delight 
and  solace.  To  the  end  of  his  life,  and  I  had  only  last  year  the  misfortune  of  losing 
him,  he  never  named  your  grand  father  but  with  eyes  swimming  in  tears." 


58  MEMOIR  OF 

with  a  theatrical  stateliness  and  pomp,  highly  animated  and  ex- 
pressive of  sensibility.'* 

After  the  publication  of  his  volume  of  Medical  Biography  in 
1780,  Mr.  Aikin  laid  aside  this  work,  and  no  other  of  any  consid- 
erable magnitude  occupied  his  attention  for  some  years.  In  fact, 
his  necessary  engagements  were  now  too  numerous  to  admit  of 
his  devoting  a  very  considerable  portion  of  his  time  to  literary 
composition.  His  practice,  especially  in  the  most  fatiguing 
branch  of  his  profession,  was  extensive,  and  he  had  undertaken 
the  charge  of  two  medical  pupils.  One  of  these  was  a  son  of  Mr. 
White  of  Manchester,  who  remained  with  him  only  a  few  months, 
being  designed  for  a  physician  ;  the  other  was  Mr.  P.  Holland, 
now  a  surgeon  of  eminence,  settled  at  Knutsford  in  Cheshire. 
This  gentleman  remained  with  him  two  years  ;  and  never,  it  may 
safely  be  affirmed,  was  a  similar  connexion  productive  of  a  higher 
degree  of  mutual  satisfaction.  Treated  in  all  respects  like  a 
member  of  the  family,  the  pupil  learned  to  feel  as  one  ;  and  nei- 
ther absence  nor  length  of  time,  ever  obliterated,  or  impaired, 
either  his  sense  of  grateful  attachment  to  the  friend  and  instruc- 
tor of  his  youth,  or  the  affection  and  esteem  of  that  friend  for 
one  so  highly  deserving  of  both  these  sentiments. 

Among  the  lighter  studies  which  amused  this  period  of  vaca- 
tion from  the  cares  of  authorship  was  the  composition  of  some 
small  pieces  of  verse,  one  of  which,  Horatian  Philosophy,  he 
mentions,  on  sending  it  to  his  sister,  as  extracted  from  various 
passages  of  that  favourite  writer.  As  a  happy  specimen  both 
of  his  powers  in  familiar  verse,  and  of  the  strain  of  sentiment  in 
the  ancient  poet  which  he  found  peculiarly  accordant  with  his 
own  disposition,  the  lines  may  here  find  a  place  : 

HORATIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 

"  From  scenes  of  tumult,  noise  and  strife, 
And  all  the  ills  of  public  life, 
From  waiting  at  the  great  man's  gafe, 
A  mid  the  slaves  that  swell  his  state  ; 
From  coxcomb  poets  and  their  verses  ; 
From  streets  with  chariots  throng'd,  and  horses  ; 
From  rattling  spendthrifts  and  their  guests, 
And  dull  buffoons  with  scurvy  jests; 
From  fashion's  whims  and  folly's  freaks  ; 
From  shouts  by  day  and  nightly  shrieks  ; 
O  let  me  make  a  quick  retreat, 
And  seek  in  haste  my  country  seat.  : 


DR.  JOHN  AIKLN.  39 

In  silent  shades  forgotten  lie, 
And  learn  to  live  before  I  die ! 
There,  on  the  verdant  turf  reclined, 
By  wisdom's  rules  compose  my  mind  ; 
My  passions  still,  correct  my  heart, 
And  meliorate  my  better  part: 
Quit  idle  hope  and  fond  desire, 
And  cease  to  gaze  where  fools  admire  : 
With  scorn  the  crowd  profane  behold 
Enslaved  by  sordid  thirst  of  gold, 
Nor  deign  to  bend  at  such  a  shrine 
While  priest  of  Phrabus  and  the  Nine. 
Nor  would  I  shun  the  student's  toil, 
But  feed  my  lamp  with  Grecian  oil ; 
Sometimes  through  Stoic  walks  sublime 
Up  the  rough  steep  of  virtue  climb  ; 
From  philosophic  heights  look  down, 
Nor  heed  if  Fortune  smile  or  frown ; 
la  Wisdom's  mantle  closely  furl'd, 
Defy  the  tempests  of  the  world  ; 
And  scorning  all  that's  not  our  oiunt 
Place  every  good  in  mind  alone. 
Then,  sliding  to  an  easier  plan, 
Put  offthe  God  to  be  the  man  ; 
Resolve  the  offer'd  sweets  to  prove 
Of  social  bowls,  gay  sports  and  love  ; 
Give  forward  life  its  childish  toy, 
Nor  blush  to  feel,  and  to  enjoy. 
Yet  ever,  as  by  humour  led, 
Each  path  of  life  in  turn  I  tread, 
Still  to  my  first  great  maxim  true, 
On  Moderation  fix  my  view  ; 
Let  her  with  tempering  sway  preside 
O'er  pleasure's  cup  and  Learning's  pride  ; 
And  by  her  sage  decrees  o'er- rule 
The  maxims  of  each  sturdy  school. 
Opinion  thus  may  various  play, 
While  Reason  shines  with  steady  ray, 
And  casts  o'er  all  the  shifting  scene 
Her  sober  hue,  and  light  serene." 

A  long  vacation  from  the  cares  of  authorship  was,  however,  in 
reality,  neither  the  wish  nor  the  fate  of  Mr.  Aikin  ;  and  he  em- 
braced with  satisfaction  a  proposal  made  to  him  by  the  proprie- 
tors of  Lewis's  Experimental  History  of  the  Materia  Medico,  for 
a  much  enlarged  and  corrected  edition  of  that  work.  During  a 
considerable  part  of  the  year  1783,  he  was  closely  occupied  by 
this  design,  and  the  result  of  his  labours  appeared  in  the  subse- 
quent year  in  a  quarto  volume.  The  execution  of  a  task  for 


40  MEMOIR  OF 

which  he  well  prepared  by  his  previous  study  of  chemistry  and 
botany,  was  much  approved  by  the  faculty ;  and  the  work  was 
re-printed  with  further  enlargement  and  emendations,  by  the  same 
hand,  a  few  years  afterwards. 

The  ages  of  his  own  elder  children  at  this  period,  rendered 
education  a  subject  of  lively  and  augmenting  interest  to  the 
mind  of  Mr.  Aikin ;  and  several  designs  were  conceived  by  him 
for  the  entertainment  and  instruction  of  his  own  boys,  which 
afterwards  appeared  matured  and  expanded  in  his  various  works 
for  young  people.  A  slight  but  spirited  sketch  of  his  leading 
opinions  on  this  important  topic  is  found  in  the  following  re- 
marks, addressed  to  his  sister,  respecting  a  work  which  at  that 
time  greatly  excited  the  public  attention,  and  which  he  always 
mentioned  with  respect,  and  often  quoted  with  applause  for  its 
many  judicious  remarks  on  particular  points,  notwithstanding 
the  objections  to  its  general  system  here  stated. 

"  I  have  a  hundred  things  to  say  both  for  and  against  Knox. 
I  wish  from  my  heart  that  you,  with  Mr.  Barbauld's  assistance, 
would  write  a  criticism  on  him.  His  great  fault,  I  think,  is 
setting  out  with  too  confined  a  view  of  the  ends  of  education, 
which  must  be  as  various  as  situations  and  characters  in  life  are. 
Does  he  not  breed  them  all  for  clergymen  and  schoolmasters  ? 
I  should  like  a  good  comment  on  that  excellent  saying  of  Agesi- 
laus,  « that  the  great  business  of  education  should  be  to  instruct 
youth  in  what  will  be  of  use  to  them  when  they  come  to  be 
men.*  This  plan  will  scarcely  include  Latin  verses  and  the 
study  of  Greek  dialects." 

To  teach  things  rather  than  words,  will  readily  be  understood 
to  have  been  the  aim  of  the  author  of  the  preceding  remarks ; 
and  the  first  of  his  publications  for  the  benefit  of  the  juvenile 
part  of  the  community,  was  intended  to  communicate  a  taste  for 
such  knowledge  as  he  held  useful  to  all.  This  little  book,  print- 
ed in  1784,  was  entitled  The  Calendar  of  Nature, — an  elegant 
and  instructive  sketch  of  the  most  striking  circumstances  in  ani- 
mal and  vegetable  life,  and  the  principal  changes  in  the  general 
face  of  nature  attendant  upon  the  revolution  of  the  seasons  in 
our  latitudes.  According  to  the  manner  of  the  writer,  poetical 
motto's  were  affixed  to  each  month;  while  apt  quotations  in 
verse  liberally  interspersed,  served  to  promote  in  the  mind  of 
the  youthful  reader  that  alliance  between  poetry  and  natural  his- 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  41 

tory  which  he  had  ever  so  warmly  at  Heart.  The  piece  was  well 
received,  and  went  through  more  than  one  impression.* 

About  the  end  of  1783,  the  dissolution  of  the  Warrington 
academy  scattered  the  little  knot  of  literary  friends,  whose  con- 
genial society  had  hitherto  so  happily  disguised  from  one  another 
the  irksomeness  and  monotony  of  a  contracted  circle  of  acquain- 
tance and  an  obscure  scene  of  action.  Mr.  Aikin  deeply  felt 
the  privation  ;  but  to  check  repining  at  inevitable  evil  was  ever, 
in  his  estimation,  the  first  rule  of  moral  wisdom;  and  he  applied 
himself  to  seeking,  in  the  diligent  exercise  of  his  own  powers, 
the  best  substitute  for  the  animating  intercourse  of  mind  with 
mind.  With  Dr.  Enfield,  who  alone  of  the  former  tutors  re- 
mained on  the  spot,  he  occupied  himself  in  the  discussion  of  a 
variety  of  literary  schemes,  of  which,  though  a  considerable  por- 
tion might  prove  abortive,  several  attained,  sooner  or  later,  a 
healthy  maturity.  One  of  his  most  elaborate  critical  pieces  was 
begun  at  this  period,  the  design  of  which  he  thus  unfolded  to  his 
sister : 

"  I  have  another  project  in  hand,  which  I  want  a  Hundred  times 
to  talk  with  you  upon.  1  am  writing  an  Essay  on  the  allegori- 
cal personages  introduced  into  poetry,  such  as  Fame,  Death, 
Despair,  Fear,  &c.,  and  I  have  already  made  a  pretty  large  col- 
lection of  them.  I  reduce  them  to  three  classes:  1.  Such  per- 
sonifications as  only  represent  a  human  figure  strongly  impress- 
ed with  a  particular  passion  or  quality;  such  as  Sleep  in  Ovid, 
Affectation  and  111- nature  in  the  Rape  of  the  Lock.  2.  Such  as  to 
this  have  some  symbolical  or  emblematical  addition ;  as  Envy  in 
Ovid,  Care  in  Spenser.  3.  Such  as  are  entirely  emblematical ; 
as  Love,  Death,  Time,  Fame,  as  usually  described.  My  plan  is 
to  collect  a  number  of  examples  under  each  of  these  heads,  to 
make  some  observations  on  each,  and  to  establish  some  general 
rules  for  this  part  of  poetry  from  the  whole.  My  present  sources 
are  chiefly  English  poetry,  especially  Spenser.  I  suppose  the 
Italian  writers  would  afford  a  good  deal,  but  they  are  locked  up 
from  me.  I  must  see,  however,  Hoole's  Ariosto.  Will  you  be- 
stow a  little  thought  on  this  matter,  and  give  me  your  opinion  ? 


*  An  enlargement  of  this  work,  adapted  to  readers  of  a  riper  age,  and  entitled 
Thi!  Natural  History  of  the  Year,  was  published  by  Arthur  Aikin  for  Johruoij,  in 

171)9. 

F 


42  MEMOIR  OF 

I  assure  you  it  is  a  very  entertaining  speculation,  and  will  afford 
many  fine  quotations.5* 

I  know  not  how  far  he  proceeded  with  his  plan  at  this  period  ; 
but  it  was  not  till  many  years  afterwards,  and  when  the  trea- 
sures of  Italian  literature  were  no  longer  "  locked  up"  from  him, 
that  he  presented  his  Essay  on  Poetical  Personification  to  the 
public  *  If  in  the  present  anarchical  state  t)f  English  poetry 
any  partisans  of  ancient  rule  may  be  supposed  to  still  exist,  who 
believe  the  power  of  composing  "immortal  .verse"  to  be  an  art 
as  well  as  a  gift, — who  hold  that  the  energies  of  genius  are  not 
checked,  but  invigorated,  by  the  habit  of  obedience  to  the  strict 
discipline  of  taste  and  judgment, — to  them  this  piece  will  appear 
a  valuable  addition  to  the  school  books  of  every  rising  poet  and 
every  cultivated  reader.  It  teaches  the  correct  and  consistent 
use  of  one  of  the  most  splendid  ornaments  of  the  more  elevated 
species  of  poetry  ;  and  this,  not  by  frigid  precepts,  but  by  exam- 
ples drawn  from  the  works  of  the  greatest  masters,  and  appre- 
ciated with  sensibility,  as  well  as  dicernment. 

The  task  of  preparing  a  new  edition  of  Mr.  Howard's  work  on 
Prisons,  with  large  additions,  the  fruit  of  another  and  very  ex- 
tensive tour  undertaken  by  this  eminent  philanthropist,  now  pro- 
cured Mr.  Aikin  the  pleasure  of  his  daily  society  during  several 
months,  and  the  satisfaction  of  exercising  his  literary  skill  in  fa- 
vour of  his  important  and  beneficient  objects.  Of  the  work  in 
question  he  thus  writes  to  his  sister :  "Mr.  Howard  is  here 
printing  his  book,  and  will  stay  three  or  four  months.  His  la- 
bours are  most  amazing,  and  a  wonderful  proof  of  what  may  be 
done  by  one  man  entirely  devoted  to  a  single  object.  Yet  he 
has  not,  1  think,  a  very  enlarged  mind,  and  will  be  chiefly  useful 
as  a  collector  of  facts  for  others  to  reason  upon.  His  narrow 
education  (as  he  himself  often  laments)  is  an  eternal  and  insu- 
perable bar  to  him.  In  resolution,  firmness,  and  integrity,  he  is 
unequalled." 

But  neither  the  dictates  of  that  philosophic  moderation  which 
he  cultivated,  nor  the  pursuit  of  useful  knowledge  and  of  those 
amenities  of  literature  which  he  loved,  could  longer  disguise  from 
a  man  of  talents  and  activity,  and  the  father  of  a  growing  family, 
the  indisputable  fact  that  he  had  not  yet  risen  to  his  just  level 


•  It  was  first   [ir'mtril  in  the   Montlih   Ma^z'nc,  and  afterwards  in  his  Essays, 
1  it  !ary  and  .Miscellaneous.     Johnson  &  Co.  1811. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  43 

in  society ; — that  the  station  which  he  held  was  neither  in  hon- 
our nor  in  profit  a  fair  return  for  the  study  which  he  had  bestow- 
ed on  his  profession,  or  his  actual  skill  in  it ; — and  that  to  sit 
down  in  passive  acquiesence  under  the  injustice  of  fortune  might 
rather  be  regarded  as  tameness  than  virtue.  The  peculiar  ob- 
stacles to  the  extension  of  his  practice  at  Warrington  became 
also  more  and  more  palpable.  "  We  are  encompassed  round," 
he  writes  to  his  sister,  "  with  large  towns  and  men  of  establish- 
ed reputation  ;  and  even  in  this  town  most  of  the  higher  families 
are  out  of  my  line  of  connections.  I  had  imagined  a  way  was 
opened  for  pushing  into  better  acquaintance,  and  this  has  in  some 
degree  happened  ;  but  I  find  intrigue  and  jealousy  meeting  me 
in  every  quarter ;  and  as  I  cannot  stoop  to  artifice  of  any  kind, 
I  am  hardly  a  match  for  some  of  my  rivals.*5 

Under  these  circumstances,  he  determined  to  comply  with  the 
advice  which  had  long  been  urged  upon  him  by  his  best  friends, 
and  especially  by  his  professional  ones,  to  take  his  Doctor's  de- 
gree, and  aim  at  a  higher  line  of  practice.  No  consideration, 
however,  could  induce  him  to  submit  to  the  degradation  of  ac- 
quiring by  purchase  a  title  to  which  he  felt  himself  qualified  to 
advance  a  juster  claim;  and  overlooking  sources  of  academical 
honours  nearer  home,  he  fixed  upon  the  truly  respectable  Uni- 
versity of  Leyden  as  the  place  of  his  intended  graduation. 

It  was  in  the  beginning  of  July,  1784,  that  he  set  out  for  Lon- 
don on  his  way  to  Holland,  furnished  with  a  thesis,  to  the  com- 
position of  which  he  had  given  much  study.*  Here  he  was  join- 
ed by  a  near  connection,  who  wished  to  make  this  little  trip  in 
his  company,  and  they  pursued  their  journey  without  loss  of 
time.  A  short  journal  which  he  kept  on  his  tour,  though  writ- 
ten only  for  his  own  satisfaction,  and  the  amusement  of  his  fa- 
mily, appears  so  characteristic  of  his  quick  observation  and  va- 
rious knowledge,  that  no  apology,  it  is  presumed,  will  be  neces- 
sary for  its  insertion  in  this  place. 

"  On  July  6th,  1784, 1  left  London  about  four  in  the  afternoon 
in  a  post  chaise,  accompanied  by  Mr.  K.  The  road  for  some 
miles  through  Bow  and  Stratford  appeared  like  a  continued 
town  ;  from  thence  a  flat  unanimated  country  reaches  to  Mum- 
ford.  After  this,  the  country  begins  to  be  more  varied  and  plea- 

*  Its  title  wasDe  Lactis  Secretime  in  Puerperix. 


44  MEMOIR  OF 

sant,  with  many  gentlemen's  seats,  and  neat  cheerful  farm- 
houses, mostly  plastered  over.  We  drove  without  stopping 
through  Chelmsford,  and  only  noticed  the  magnificent  front  of 
the  new  county  gaol.  Near  this  town  are  some  hop  gardens, 
which  looked  very  agreeably.  At  half  past  nine  we  reached  our 
inn  at  Wiiham  For  the  last  five  or  six  miles,  it  was  too  dusky 
for  prospect. 

"July  7th.  We  left  Witham  at  six,  travelling  through  a  flat 
corn  country,  bare  of  people,  and  affording  few  objects,  to  Col- 
chester. This  is  a  pretty  large  well  built  old  town,  very  quiet, 
and  abounding  with  remains  of  antiquity.  We  viewed  the  cas- 
tle, a  large  strong  square  fortress,  entire  on  the  outside.  It 
brought  to  my  mind  the  famous  siege  of  Colchester  in  the  civil 
wars,  when  Goring  and  Lucas  made  such  a  gallant  defence. 

"From  hence  we  proceeded  through  a  similar  but  rougher 
country  to  Manningtree,  where  we  came  at  once  in  sight  of  the 
estuary  which  separates  Essex  from  Suffolk.  At  low  water  there 
is  but  a  narrow  channel,  with  large  marshes  on  each  side,  smell- 
ing disagreeably,  and  looking  like  the  native  soil  of  agues  and 
fevers. 

"  A  pleasant  varied  country  leads  from  hence  to  Harwich, 
vhich  we  reached  at  noon,  a  small  neat  port  town,  very  plea- 
santly situated  on  an  extremity  of  land  opposite  the  German 
Ocean.  Here  we  passed  the  time  by  strolling  about  the  town 
and  along  the  beach,  picking  up  sea  plants  and  shells,  and  look- 
ing at  the  fishing  vessels  running  in  and  out.  The  weather  was 
-  tly  fine,  and  all  objects  gay  and  pleasant.  After  a  tedious 
waiting  for  the  mail,  we  hurried  on  board  the  packet  near  eight 
o'clock. 

"  We  fell  down  the  river  with  the  tide,  and  sailed  close  under 
Landguard-fort,  a  large  handsome  fortress  on  a  low  point  of 
land,  which  commands  the  entrance.  On  clearing  the  harbour, 
we  found  a  brisk  but  contrary  wind.  The  evening  was  fine  and 
warm,  with  frequent  lightning  in  the  horizon,  and  the  moon  sil- 
vering the  waves.  Not  being  able  to  advance,  we  cast  anchor, 
when  the  vessel  heaved  and  rolled  considerably. 

"July  8th.  At  three  in  the  morning  I  came  on  deck,  and  saw 
the  sun  rising  like  a  vast  ball  of  fire  out  of  the  ocean.  The  ves- 
sel was  under  sail  again,  with  frequent  tacks  and  little  advance. 
Contrary  winds  and  calms  prevailed  all  that  day  and  the  follow- 
ing night. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  45 

"July  9th.  The  wind  freshened  and  became  fairer.  The  ves- 
sel went  steadier,  and  all  the  passengers  ate  a  tolerable  break- 
fast, and  came  on  deck  again.  In  the  afternoon  land  was  des- 
cried, and  all  sickness  and  low  spirits  vanished.  We  ran  in  with 
a  fair  gale,  and  were  much  amused  at  the  various  objects  on  shore 
becoming  more  and  more  distinct,  and  opening  one  after  another. 
We  sailed  close  along  the  shore  of  the  isle  of  Goeree,  and  at  five 
in  the  evening  landed  at  Helvoetsluys. 

"  We  were  extremely  struck  with  the  Dutch  neatness  apparent 
in  the  pavement  and  whole  outsides  of  the  houses  in  this  little 
town.  After  a  dish  of  tea  in  our  inn,  we  waited  on  Mynheer 
Commissary,  a  brisk  chattering  fellow,  who  made  us  drink  a  bot- 
tle of  bad  claret  with  him  (not  without  paying,  however,)  while 
he  sent  for  carriages.  We  two,  with  a  French  and  Dutch  gen- 
tleman, got  an  old  fashioned  clumsy  coach  for  ourselves,  and  a 
wagon  for  our  baggage,  and  proceeded  for  the  Brill. 

"Our  road  led  through  low  marshy  land,  which  in  most  other 
countries  would  have  been  quite  neglected,  but  here  was  highly 
cultivated,  producing  corn,  flax,  madder,  potatoes,  &c.  The 
farm  houses  were  neat  and  substantial.  There  were  many 
aquatic  birds  in  the  fields,  very  tame  ;  among  which  we  were  par- 
ticularly struck  with  the  stork.  At  half  past  eight  we  arrived 
at  the  Brill,  the  gates  of  which  were  shut,  so  that  we  were  oblig- 
ed to  give  in  our  names  and  pay  a  trifle  for  admission.  We 
crossed  a  fine  double  bridge  at  the  entrance. 

"  July  10th.  I  rose  at  six,  impatient  to  view  the  new  world  I 
was  got  into.  On  going  out,  I  found  all  the  servant  girls  busy 
in  mopping  and  scrubbing  before  their  doors.  They  were  dressed 
in  round  caps  coming  low  on  the  forehead,  ear-rings,  short  jack- 
ets, a  sort  of  bell-hoops,  and  slippers.  Most  had  a  large  black 
patch  on  one  or  both  temples,  which  we  were  told  was  a  remedy 
for  the  tooth-ache.  The  morning  was  mistling,  which  did  not 
prevent  me  from  walking  through  some  of  the  streets  under  the 
continued  rows  of  trees.  After  breakfast  it  cleared  up,  and  we 
walked  to  the  side  of  the  Maes,  where  we  were  ferried  over  to 
a  low  island,  which  lies  in  the  middle  of  the  river.  Here  we  got 
a  wagon  for  ourselves  and  baggage.  It  had  swinging  seats  at 
the  fore  part  on  which  we  were  placed,  and  our  baggage  was 
piled  behind  ;  and  we  drove  away  very  merrily  about  three  miles, 
when  we  had  crossed  the  island,  and  came  to  another  ferry. 
This  landed  us  on  the  continent  at  Maeslandsluys,  which  is  a 


46  MEMOIR  OF 

busy  populous  town,  with  a  small  port  full  of  vessels.  Upon  the 
quay  were  great  quantities  of  fine  salt  fish  in  barrels.  It  was 
market  day,  and  the  shops  and  stalls  were  dressed  out  in  all  the 
pride  of  Dutch  brilliancy  and  finery.  We  just  walked  through 
the  town,  and  embarked  in  a  treck-schuyt  on  the  great  Delft  ca- 
nal. The  weather  was  clear  and  hot.  We  rode  on  the  roof  of 
the  boat,  and  with  great  pleasure  viewed  all  the  surrounding  ob- 
jects. Many  towns  and  villages  were  in  sight  on  both  sides; 
and  we  passed  through  rich  meadows  full  of  cattle.  The  canal 
is  very  broad  and  straight,  but  we  met  with  few  vessels.  About 
two  we  arrived  at 

"Delft.  This  is  a  very  pleasing  town,  with  canals  and  rows 
of  trees  in  most  of  the  streets,  and  many  very  good  houses. 
The  square  with  the  town  house  on  one  side,  and  the  new  church 
on  the  olher,  has  an  air  of  magnificence.  In  two  of  the  churches 
we  viewed  the  tombs  of  some  of  the  greatest  men  in  the  modern 
history  These  were  Admirals  Tromp  and  Peter  Hein,  Grotius, 
and  William  I.  Prince  of  Orange.  The  noble  mausoleum  erect- 
ed for  the  Orange  family,  with  the  statue  of  William,  the  great 
assertor  of  liberty,  excited  in  me  sentiments  of  the  profoundest 
veneration. 

"The  Dutch  churches  which  I  saw  are  large  lofty  buildings, 
with  no  other  ornaments  than  a  number  of  scutcheons  painted 
with  the  arms  of  families  buried  there,  and  hung  upon  the  pil- 
lars. There  are  no  pews,  but  a  vast  number  of  chairs  and 
benches. 

"Here  we  parted  with  our  two  companions,  and  set  off  after  four 
in  the  Hague  boat.  The  voyage  was  most  amusing  and  striking, 
the  banks  of  the  canal  beiug  one  continued  range  of  villas,  gar- 
dens, pleasure-houses,  windmills,  rows  of  trees,  &c.  Numerous 
Is  were  continually  passing  and  repassing.  In  a  short  time 
we  reached  the  I/ague.  Here  we  took  up  our  quarters  at  the 
Marcchal  de  Turennc,  a  French  hotel,  very  elegant  and  spacious. 
After  tea  we  made  a  tour  of  the  best  part  of  the  town  under  the 
conduct  of  a  French  valet  dc  place. 

"  The  union  ot  the  Dutch  neatness  with  the  magnificence  of  a 
court,  in  this  place,  is  extremely  striking.  It  is  an  assemblage 
of  fine  streets  and  squares,  with  houses  worthy  of  the  title  of  pa- 
lacc-s,  in  a  variety  of  beautiful  architecture,  exceeding  much,  as 
I  thought,  t lie  best  parts  of  London.  Some  of  the  older  squares 
in  London,  as  Grosvenor,  Hanover,  &c.,  if  they  were  thrown  into 


DR.  JOHN  A1KIN.  47 

a  continued  group,  with  their  connecting  streets,  would  give  the 
best  idea  of  it.  But  more  of  the  buildings  are  of  stone,  and  in  a 
grander  style  ;  and  the  fine  rows  of  trees  are  a  great  ornament 
to  them.  The  side  pavement,  however,  is  neither  so  commodious 
nor  beautiful  as  in  London. 

"  There  seemed  to  be  little  hurry  and  bustle  in  the  streets,  and 
few  marks  of  opulence  and  gaiety  :  but  many  families  were  gone 
to  their  country  habitations.  The  few  carriages  we  saw  were 
mostly  in  the  old  heavy  style,  here  and  in  other  parts  of  Hol- 
land. Some  light  English  carriages,  indeed,  were  now  and  then 
to  be  seen. 

"  After  supper  I  found  by  great  accident  that  my  old  friend 
the  Rev.  Mr.  A.  was  in  the  house.  We  joined  company  with  him 
and  his  friend  Mr.  H.,  and  spent  a  most  agreeable  evening. 

"July  llth.  (Sunday.)  Mr.  H.,  A.,  and  myself,  walked  before 
breakfast  to  Scheveling.  The  road  is  a  perfectly  straight  avenue 
of  several  rows  of  trees  for  a  mile  and  half, — striking,  but  rather 
tiresome.  Scheveling  is  a  large  fishing  village,  on  the  open 
beach.  Its  neatness  could  not  prevent  it  from  smelling  abomi- 
nably of  fish.  The  shore  is  composed  of  whole  and  broken  shells, 
protected  by  a  range  of  sand  hills,  held  together  by  the  star 
grass.  An  uniform  line  of  sixty  fishing  barks  all  nearly  alike  and 
placed  at  equal  distances,  lay  before  the  place.  On  our  return, 
we  met  with  several  open  carriages  full  of  men  and  women  going 
for  a  Sunday's  ramble,  some  singing  and  noisy,  unlike  our  idea 
of  Dutch  gravity. 

"  After  breakfast  we  walked  to  the  parade,  where  some  horse 
and  foot  guards  were  marching  round  and  round  to  fine  music. 
The  Prince  of  Orange  was  here,  holding  a  kind  of  levee.  He  is 
a  heavy  looking  ill  made  man  ;  but  seemed  affable  and  good  tem- 
pered. We  followed  him  on  his  walk  to  the  House  in  the  Wood, 
about  a  mile  from  the  town;  and  were  diverted  with  the  odd 
motley  group  which  composed  his  suite.  There  were  three  or 
four  officers,  a  running  footman,  about  half  a  dozen  low  people 
who  followed  close  at  his  heels,  among  whom  was  one  sedately 
smoking  his  pipe,  and  perfuming  the  whole  company  ;  a  shabby 
fellow  followed,  whistling  in  imitation  of  a  nightingale  ;  and  we 
four  composed  the  rear.  The  prince  walked  in  his  boots,  bare- 
headed ;  and  occasionally  stopped  by  the  way  to  converse  with 
some  ladies  whom  he  met.  The  road  is  a  tolerably  pleasant  walk 
through  a  wood. 


MEMOIR  OF 

"  Mr.  K.  and  I  went  into  the  House  in  the  Wood^  which  is  a 
very  neat  building,  about  the  size  of  the  Queen's  palace  in  St« 
James's  park.  Some  handsome  apartments  were  shown  to  us  ;  and 
one  very  fine  one,  the  ball  room,  decorated  with  fine  paintings, 
mostly  relating  to  the  actions  of  Frederick  Henry  of  Orange. 

"  We  dined  in  our  inn  at  the  ordinary,  with  several  officers 
and  other  gentlemen.  All  spoke  French,  but  too  rapidly  for  me 
to  understand  much.  In  the  dining  room  was  a  picture  of  our 
late  Duke  of  Cumberland,  who  resided  some  time  at  this  hotel. 

"At  half  after  four  we  set  off*  in  the  boat  for  Leyden.  The 
canal  for  about  three  miles  is  bordered  with  a  continued  range  of 
sumptuous  pleasure  houses  and  gardens,  in  the  height  of  the 
Dutch  taste,  with  tall  cut  hedges,  long  vistos,  berceau  walks, 
statues,  aviaries,  and  parterres.  The  summer  houses  were  full 
of  people  drinking  tea  and  smoking.  At  a  village  where  we 
changed  boats,  a  kind  of  fair  was  held,  with  various  sorts  of  di- 
versions, very  different  from  a  Sunday's  scene  with  us.  Nearer 
Leyden  the  canal  becomes  very  broad,  with  fine  extensive  mea- 
dows on  each  side.  Numerous  small  painted  summer  houses  and 
gardens  announced  the  vicinity  of  Leyden,  where  we  arrived  at 
half  past  seven.  Here  we  rejoined  Messrs.  H.  and  A.,  and  walk- 
ed about  the  town  till  dark.  We  supped  together,  in  I  know  not 
what  fashion,  upon  two  hot  joints  of  meat. 

"  July  12th.  After  breakfast  we  all  sallied  forth,  and  I  called 
at  several  places  to  make  myself  known,  in  doing  which  I  was 
obliged  to  make  all  possible  use  of  my  broken  French.  My  re- 
commendatory letters  were  of  little  service,  the  principal  per- 
son to  whom  they  were  addressed  being  dead;  but  the  books  I 
took  with  me  served  as  an  introduction.  Mr.  II.  and  Mr.  A.  left 
us  in  the  forenoon.  After  dinner  I  waited  by  appointment  on  the 
Dean  of  the  Faculty,  Professor  Saridifort,  and  underwent  an  easy 
colloquial  examination  in  Latin.  The  subjects  were  chiefly 
anatomical.  I  understood  the  professor's  Dutch  pronounciation 
better  than  I  expected,  and  made  a  shift  to  answer  him 
tolerably. 

"  We  saw  the  Burgh,  a  curious  artificial  mount  in  the  midst 
of  the  city,  with  a  sort  of  fortification  at  top;  and  the  Stadt 
house,  a  fine  old  building,  in  which  are  some  paintings  of  Lucas 
Van  Leyden.  A  remarkable  one  of  the  last  judgment,  rather 
comic  than  terrible,  and  a  striking  representation  of  the  raising 
of  the  memorable  seige  of  Leyden,  attracted  our  principal  notice. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  49 

"  As  every  Dutch  town  is  clean,  the  great  neatness  of  Leyden 
ceased  to  be  so  striking ;  but  we  were  really  struck  on  passing 
through  several  populous  streets  inhabited  by  weavers,  which 
were  as  clean  as  the  best  parts  of  the  city. 

"July  13th.  At  twelve  I  went  to  the  College,  where  I  was  to 
be  examined  before  the  Dean  and  Faculty  of  Medicine.  The 
whole  Faculty  was  represented  by  Professor  Oosterdyk.  He 
was  the  examiner  this  day.  His  questions  chiefly  related  to  the 
diagnostics  and  cure  of  diseases.  They  were  fair  and  candid, 
and  the  business  was  got  through  with  ease.  1  had  two  aphorisms 
of  Hippocrates  given  me  to  comment  upon  against  the  next  day, 
which  made  me  as  busy  in  the  evening  as  a  school  boy  with  his 
task,  f  also  went  over  all  my  thesis  with  a  Latin  schoolmaster, 
who  seemed  a  clever  man,  and  had  nothing  pedantic  in  his  ap- 
pearance. 

"  We  walked  about  various  other  parts  of  the  town,  and  par 
ticularly  through  more  streets  of  manufacturers,  not  quite  so 
clean  as  before  represented,  but  all  wonderfully  quiet  and  or- 
derly. Very  few  children  are  to  be  seen  in  the  streets;  and  the 
lively  mischievous  character  of  a  boy,  as  it  appears  in  England 
and  other  places,  seems  not  to  exist  here.  Contrary  to  what  I 
had  expected,  we  found  the  Dutch  to  be  a  very  civil  and  polite 
people.  Even  the  lower  sort  frequently  pull  off  their  hats  to 
one  another  in  the  streets,  and  make  way  for  each  other  in 
passi.ng. 

"July  14th.  At  noon  I  read  over  my  commentary  on  the  Apho- 
risms before  the  same  professors.  Dr.  Sandifort  oppugned  a  little 
in  the  logical  forms,  but  the  business  was  soon  over.  We  saw 
the  botanical  garden,  and  a  collection  of  natural  history  belong- 
ing to  the  College  ;  but  neither  of  them  struck  me  much. 

"We  strolled  a  good  deal  about  the  town  this  day,  and  al- 
most finished  our  survey  of  it.  Leyden  is  a  large,  handsome, 
and  well  built  city,  with  many  very  good  houses,  but  few  build- 
ings that  can  be  called  grand  or  'magnificent.  It  is  remarkably 
still  and  quiet,  and  seems  on  the  decline,  many  houses  in  all  the 
streets  being  to  be  let  or  sold.  At  the  same  time,  there  is  no- 
thing ruinous  or  shabby.  Even  the  pleasure  houses  in  the  gar- 
dens are  all  kept  in  perfect  repair. 

"  The  sober  uniformity  of  the  Dutch  now  begins  to  grow  tire- 
some.    There  is   nothing  gay  or  joyous  ;  no  amusements  of  a 
lively  cast.     After  business  is  over,  the  grave  burgher  goes  to 
G 


50  MEMOIR  OF 

his  garden  without  the  walls,  and  smokes  his  pipe  in  a  summer 
house. 

"  We  drank  tea  with  a  grave  young  physician,  who  showed  us 
his  large  collection  of  diseased  bones. 

"  July  15th.  In  the  morning  I  sent  my  thesis  to  the  press  ;  and 
afterwards  viewed  the  anatomical  theatre  and  preparations. 
After  dinner  I  got  the  first  proof  sheet ;  and  having  corrected  it, 
and  left  proper  directions  about  the  remainder,  we  set  off  at 
four  in  the  Haarlem  boat.  We  sailed  along  a  broad  very  straight 
canal,  through  fine  meadows  with  many  plantations  of  trees,  but 
few  people.  'The  sand  hills  on  the  sea  shore  were  in  view  on 
the  left  during  most  of  the  voyage.  We  were  struck  with  the 
civility  of  the  passengers  in  boats,  who  generally  saluted  each 
other  on  meeting.  The  masters  of  the  treck-schuyts  are  com- 
monly decent  substantial  men  who  converse'familiarly  with  their 
passengers. 

"At  eight  we  reached  Haarlem.  We  walked  about  till  dark, 
arid  then  returned  to  supper  at  the  ordinary,  where  the  compa- 
ny all  spoke  Dutch.  The  landlady,  however,  who  was  at  the 
table  spoke  French  very  well. 

"July  16th.  We  were  abroad  in  good  time  to  view  the  town. 
The  cathedral  is  an  extremely  large  old  building,  and  is  well 
situated  in  a  handsome  opening.  Wre  saw,  but  did  not  hear,  the 
famous  organ,  which  reaches  from  the  floor  of  the  church  to  the 
roof.  In  the  old  part  of  Haarlem  the  streets  are  narrow  ;  and 
the  rows  of  trees  are  planted  so  near  the  houses,  that  they  look 
like  a  fan  before  a  lady's  face  at  church.  The  new  town  has 
some  handsome  streets,  one  in  particular  which  we  admired 
greatly.  A  fine  broad  canal  runs  in  the  midst,  with  handsome 
bridges ;  and  on  each  side  is  a  broad  pavement,  with  rows  of 
trees,  and  some  very  noble  houses,  the  inhabitants  of  which, 
we  wore  told,  are  chiefly  Anabaptists.  Our  guide  also  took  us 
to  the  wood,  adjoining  and  belonging  to  the  city,  of  which  the 
people  are  very  proud.  It  is  cut  into  stars,  avenues,  &c.  and 
neatly  kept ;  but  the  trees  are  contemptible.  About  it  are  many 
elegant  pleasure  houses,  some  belonging  to  the  Amsterdam  mer- 
chants. The  famous  florists'  gardens,  too,  are  hereabouts  ;  and 
we  saw  vast  numbers  of  bulbous  roots  drying  upon  frames. 

"  At  eleven  \ve  embarked  in  the  boat  for  Amsterdam.  The 
canal  is  extremely  straight  and  handsome.  Half  way  we  got 
out  of  our  boat,  and  walked  across  a  narrow  neck  of  land,  be- 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  51 

tween  the  Haarlem-meer  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  Y,  an  arm  of 
Zuyder-zee  on  the  other.  The  prospect  is  very  fine  ;  and  we 
could  clearly  distinguish  Saardam  in  North  Holland,  with  its 
wind-mills,  as  numerous  as  houses  in  many  towns. 

"  The  approach  to  Amsterdam  is  less  striking  than  to  several 
other  Dutch  towns,  few  great  objects  presenting  themselves  to 
the  eye.  We  saw  near  us  to  the  left,  for  some  miles,  the  great 
dykes  or  banks  to  keep  out  the  sea ;  over  the  tops  of  which  the 
masts  and  sails  of  vessels  appeared.  After  one  we  arrived  at 

"  Amsterdam.  We  walked  above  a  mile  through  crooked  nar- 
row streets,  full  of  people,  to  our  inn.  Here  we  dined  at  an  or- 
dinary with  a  company  mostly  English,  merchants'  clerks,  ship 
captains,  &c.  In  the  afternoon,  we  visited  the  Stadt-house,  a 
most  noble  square  building,  well  situated  in  a  considerable  open- 
ing. We  ascended  to  the  cupola,  and  thence  had  a  very  fine 
view  over  the  whole  city  and  the  circumjacent  country,  with  the 
Zuyder-zee  and  Haarlem-meer.  The  size  of  Amsterdam  ap- 
peared to  us  about  a  third  of  London.  Its  figure  is  semi-circular, 
the  harbour  being  its  centre.  The  ships  appear  very  numerous, 
but  they  occupy  a  much  less  extent  than  those  in  the  Thames  at 
London. 

"  Our  friends  H.  and  A.  had  reached  this  city  before  us,  and 
we  spent  the  evening  with  the  latter,  and  a  minister  of  one  of  the 
English  churches. 

"July  17th.  After  breakfast  we  set  out  with  Mr.  A.  to  view 
the  place.  We  went  first  to  the  Jews'  quarter,  a  number  of 
streets  inhabited  solely  by  this  people,  who  are  confined  to  it.  It 
is  extremely  populous,  and  full  of  odd  faces  and  dresses.  We 
stepped  into  the  Portuguese  Jews'  synagogue,  a  very  large  fine 
building.  It  was  their  sabbath,  and  we  staid  part  of  the  service, 
which  was  reading  the  Hebrew  psalter.  One  man,  in  a  kind  of  eleva- 
ted stage  railed  round,  read  in  a  sort  of  chaunting  tone  ;  and  every 
now  and  then  the  whole  congregation  struck  in,  making  a  strange 
discordant  clamour.  Many  were  conversing  together  ;  and  the 
appearance  of  the  assembly  was  the  furthest  possible  from  indi- 
cating reverence  and  devotion.  The  men  had  all  a  sort  of  towel 
wrapt  round  them.  The  \\omen  were  in  a  latticed  gallery  and 
scarcely  visible.  We  saw  also  the  German  Jews'  synagogue, 
which  is  not  so  large. 

"From  thence  we  made  a  tour  of  the  port,  docks,  &c.  Every 
thing  wore  the  face  of  business,  but  without  noise  or  confusion, 


MEMOIR  OF 

Nothing  pleased  us  more  than  a  visit  to  one  of  the  Rhine  boats. 
These  are  very  long  capacious  vessels,  with  two  low  masts, 
which  carry  goods  and  passengers  to  and  from  Germany  along 
the  Rhine.  On  the  deck  are  raised  a  set  of  rooms  or  cabins  for 
passengers.  We  went  on  board  one  of  these,  and  were  invited 
by  a  very  neat,  civil  German  woman  to  view  the  apartments- 
There  was  a  suit  of  three  or  four  rooms,  not  only  clean,  but  ele- 
gant, hung  with  prints,  adorned  with  china,  painted  wainscots, 
handsome  bed  furniture,  and  in  short  as  finished  as  any  lady's 
chamber,  At  the  end  was  a  small  kitchen,  with  the  utensils  as 
bright  as  new.  The  good  woman  seemed  highly  satisfied  with 
the  marks  of  pleasure  and  surprise  we  showed  on  the  occasion. 

"  We  walked  through  some  of  the  best  streets,  the  Keysers- 
graft,  Keeren-graft,  &c.  which  run  semi-circularly  from  one  side 
of  the  harbour  to  the  other.  We  saw  many  very  capital  houses, 
but  rather  obscured  by  the  rows  of  trees  before  them.  The  canals 
are  nasty  and  offensive  ;  and,  on  the  whole,  Amsterdam  is  far 
from  being  an  agreeable  place. 

"After  dinner  we  visited  the  Stadt  house  again,  and  saw  the 
principal  rooms,  many  of  which  are  very  fine,  and  furnished  with 
admirable  paintings.  Of  these,  none  struck  me  so  much  as  those 
relating  to  the  Dutch  history.  Among  them  is  an  admirable  piece 
of  Rembrandt,  and  another  of  Vandyke,  with  real  portraits  of 
many  of  the  principal  persons.  There  is  a  very  striking  picture 
of  the  ratification  of  the  treaty  by  which  the  United  Provinces 
were  declared  independent.  The  Spanish  ambassador  and  the 
first  magistrate  of  Amsterdam  are  represented  as  giving  hands. 
The  countenance  of  the  former  shows  depression  and  chagrin ; 
of  the  latter,  an  honest  frankness  and  satisfaction.  The  subjects 
of  these  pictures,  with  their  antique  habits  and  manners,  gave  me 
a  lively  idea  of  the  heroic  times  of  Holland. 

"  In  the  evening  we  saw  more  of  the  best  parts  of  the  town, 
and  many  truly  grand  buildings.  We  also  revisited  the  Jews' 
quarter.  Nothing  can  be  more  striking  than  the  entire  change 
of  feature,  air,  dress,  and  manners,  that  you  meet  with  on  cross- 
ing a  little  bridge;  so  that  one  might  imagine  oneself  suddenly 
transported  a  thousand  miles.  The  Dutch  with  plain,  heavy,  un- 
disguised looks,  unanimated,  generally  fair  and  with  light  hair. 
The  Jew  sharp,  designing,  dark ;  the  women  frequently  hand- 
some, though  brown,  with  black  wanton  eyes  and  lively  gestures. 
Among  the  old  men  were  several  excellent  Shylock  faces.  The 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  53 

contrast  was  rendered  greater  by  its  being  sabbath  on  the  Jew- 
ish side,  and  Saturday  on  the  Dutch. 

"July  18th.  At  ten  we  left  Amsterdam,  riding  to  the  boat  in  a 
hackney  coach  set  upon  a  sledge,  holding  only  two  persons  face 
to  face,  and  drawn  by  one  horse.  The  driver  walks  on  one  side 
and  behind,  having  long  rope  reins.  We  got  to  Haarlem  to  din- 
ner. From  thence  to  Leyden  we  were  obliged  to  go  in  the  fore 
part  of  the  boat,  as  a  company  had  hired  all  the  better  end,  or 
roof  as  they  call  it.  We  had,  however,  very  decent  company, 
among  whom  were  some  chatty  women,  who  made  me  regret  that 
I  could  not  understand  their  conversation.  At  six  we  reached 
Leyden,  where  I  found  my  thesis  printed,  and  all  in  readiness. 

"July  19th.  This  was  my  grand  day.  I  was  at  the  college  at 
eleven.  The  Rector  Magnificus,  medical  professors,  and  several 
others,  were  assembled  in  the  senate  room.  After  waiting  halt 
an  hour,  I  was  called  in,  and  desired  to  read  some  passages  in 
my  thesis,  which  the  medical  professors  pro  forma  attacked,  and 
I  defended  as  well  as  I  could.  This  was  over  by  twelve,  when 
the  ceremony  began,  which  consisted  only  in  administering  a 
Latin  oath,  and  formally  pronouncing  me  Doctor,  with  all  the 
rights  and  privileges  thereunto  belonging.  I  then  made  my  bow, 
and  all  was  over. 

"  Afterwards,  I  was  shown  Albinus's  elegant  anatomical  pre- 
parations by  Professor  Sandifort,  who  at  the  same  time  exhibited 
them  to  two  ladies.  I  then  went  to  our  inn,  where  we  packed  up, 
dined,  paid  our  bill,  and  left  Leyden  at  half  past  two  in  the  Delft 
boat.  From  Delft  we  proceeded  by  boat  to  Rotterdam,  where  we 
arrived  past  nine  in  a  heavy  rain.  We  got  a  hackney  coach  to 
convey  us  to  our  inn. 

"  July  20th.  My  first  visit  in  the  morning  was  to  the  statue  of 
Erasmus,  a  noble  monument  to  the  memory  of  that  admirable 
genius.  He  stands  on  a  high  pedestal,  in  his  Doctor's  habit,  in- 
tent on  his  book,  just  above  the  heads  of  the  market  people ; 
forming  an  odd  contrast  to  their  busy  occupations.  After  break- 
fast, we  extended  our  walk  about  the  town,  and  in  our  way  call- 
ed on  Mr.  H.  a  bookseller,  to  whom  I  had  a  letter.  He  spoke 
English  well,  and  had  quite  the  manners  of  an  Englishman.  He 
accompanied  us  to  the  Baumkeys,  a  line  row  of  houses,  most  no- 
bly situated  on  the  bank  of  the  Maes,  which  is  broader  than  the 
Thames,  and  all  alive  with  shipping.  I  was  somewhat  puzzled 
with  the  date  of  a  large  house  here,  5482,  till  I  learned  it  was 


54  MEMOIR  OF 

built  by  a  Jew;  and  the  Jews  date  from  the  creation.  We  ob- 
served many  English  inscriptions  on  the  shops  in  various  parts  of 
the  town. 

"  We  dined  at  the  ordinary,  with  a  pretty  large  company, 
who  all  spoke  Dutch.  A  lady,  young  and  modest,  came  and  sat 
down  amongst  us,  without  seeming  disconcerted  ;  indeed  the  men 
did  not  put  her  out  of  countenance  by  taking  much  notice  of  her. 
After  dinner  we  repeated  our  walk,  and  viewed  good  part  of  the 
town.  Rotterdam  is  a  large  handsome  city,  finely  situated  for 
commerce,  the  canals  bringing  large  ships  up  to  the  merchants' 
doors.  There  are  vast  stores  of  all  sorts  of  valuable  commodi- 
ties. We  saw  some  large  men  of  war  building  and  repairing; 
and  some  very  splendid  yachts  belonging  to  various  public  com- 
panies. 

"  We  drank  tea  at  Mr.  H's  father's,  and  found  a  family  almost 
English,  the  mother  being  an  English  woman.  The  daughter 
could  not  have  been  distinguished  from  a  native  of  England.  In 
the  evening  we  went  to  a  public  house,  close  by  the  ferry  of  the 
Maes,  where  we  passed  the  night  to  be  ready  against  morning. 

"July  21st.  We  were  called  up  before  four,  when  I  had  but 
just  got  to  sleep.  Our  carriage,  a  shabby  two-wheeled  chaise, 
with  two  horses,  was  put  into  a  ferry  boat,  which  landed  us  on 
an  island  in  the  Maes.  We  drove  across  this,  and  came  to  the 
other  channel  of  the  Maes,  which  we  also  crossed  after  a  consi- 
derable delay.  From  this  ferry  we  proceeded  some  miles  across 
the  Isle  of  Voorn,  till  we  came  to  a  considerable  village  on  the 
bank  of  a  large  arm  of  the  sea,  called  Holland's  Diep,  which  di- 
vides Holland  from  Brabant,  and  goes  down  to  Helvoetsluys. 
Here  we  left  our  chaise,  and  crossed  in  a  bark,  with  a  number  of 
people,  the  wind  blowing  very  fresh,  and  water  dashing  over  the 
sides. 

"  We  landed  at  Jf'Hlemstadt,  a  small  town  regularly  fortified, 
where  we  were  obliged  to  give  our  names.  Here  we  breakfasted, 
and  got  another  chaise,  more  clumsy  and  jolting  than  the  first, 
but  with  able  horses  and  a  brisk  driver.  After  some  time  we 
came  to  another  ferry,  but  a  short  one.  The  way,  so  far,  lay 
through  a  very  low  country,  with  fine  corn  fields,  flax,  madder, 
and  beans,  not  populous,  with  scattered  farm  houses  very  like 
in  Kngland.  The  road  generally  ran  on  the  top  of  a  straight 
high  bank,  with  trees  planted  on  the  slope.  We  travelled  for 
some  time  on  the  banks  of  a  small  river  flowing  through  marshes 
on  which  were  flocks  of  wafpr  fowl. 


DR.  JOHN  A1KIN.  55 

"About  noon  we  reached  Rosendael,  a  mean  town,  full  of 
soldiers,  who  seemed  to  be  quartered  in  every  private  house. 
They  were  a  German  regiment  in  the  service  of  the  States  ;  sta- 
tioned there,  no  doubt,  to  form  a  communication  between  Breda 
and  Bergen -op -zoom. 

"  After  baiting  here,  we  proceeded,  and  soon  came  to  the  fron- 
tier of  Dutch  and  Austrian  Brabant.  Our  arrival  in  a  Roman 
Catholic  country  was  at  once  discovered  by  a  handsome  village 
church,  witfi  a  crucifix  at  the  east  end,  and  crosses  over  the 
graves.  Brabant  is  a  very  sandy  soil,  and  the  roads  are  extreme- 
ly heavy.  Oats  and  buck  wheat  are  the  chief  growth  of  the  cul- 
tivated parts,  but  there  are  large  heaths  which  extend  quite  into 
Germany.  On  one  of  these  I  got  out  and  botanised  a  little.  A 
very  extensive  one  brought  us  in  sight  of  Atwerp,  as  yet  at  a 
considerable  distance.  The  prospect  on  each  side  was  bounded 
only  by  the  horizon,  and  many  fine  steeples  were  in  view  all 
round.  We  passed  some  large  plantations  formed  on  the  waste, 
with  new  farm  houses  interspersed;  and  at  length  got  into  the  high 
road  from  Breda  to  Antwerp,  which  is  a  fine  pavement,  perfect- 
ly straight,  and  bordered  with  rows  of  trees.  The  country  here 
is  rich,  inclosed,  and  highly  cultivated.  Before  six  we  reached 

"  Jlntiverp.     The  approach  to  this  city  struck  us  wonderfully 
by  the  view  of  its  steeples,  high  ramparts,  broad  foss,  and  em- 
battled towers.     The   custom  house  officers   visited   us  at  the 
gates,  but   were  easily  satisfied  without  opening  our   baggage. 
After  drinking  coffee  at  our  inn  (which  was  a  very  handsome 
one,  and  had  the  honour  two  or  three  years  before  of  lodging  the 
Emperor)  we  walked  about  the  town  attended  by  a  valet  de place. 
The  mixture  of  religious  edifices  with  ancient  stone  houses,  re- 
minded us  of  Oxford  ;  while  the  Madonnas  and  saints  at  every 
corner,  crucifixes  in  the  streets,  and  odd  figures  of  monks  and 
priests,  presented  a  scene   perfectly  new   to  us.     We  walked 
round  half  the  ramparts  to  that  part  of  the  city  which  is  washed 
by  the  Scheldt,  a  fine  river,  nearly  as  broad  as  the  Thames,  but 
having  only  a  few  barks  upon  it.     We  returned  through  what 
had  been  the  trading  part  of  the  town,  and  took  a  melancholy 
survey  of  grass-grown  quays,  weedy  canals,  dilapidated  ware- 
houses, and  close  streets  thronged   with  houses,  but  almost  des- 
titute of  inhabitants.     The  famous  exchange  of  Antwerp,  as  large 
as  those  of  London  and  Amsterdam,  has  its   walks  obstructed 
with  shabby  boarded  booths,  used  as  paltry  shops  at  the  fair. 


56  MEMOIR  OF 

An  old  woman  selling  muscles  was  the  only  commercial  occu- 
pier of  the  place. 

"The  town-house  is  a  very  large  building,  scarcely  inferior  in 
size  to  that  of  Amsterdam  ;  and  must  have  been  the  finest  in 
Europe  when  built.  It  looks  sadly  desolate  and  npglected. 
The  houses  in  this  part  of  the  town  are  very  high,  and  of  a  sin- 
gular architecture,  magnificent  in  their  day,  but  now  antiquated. 
The  steeple  of  the  cathedral  church  is  a  high  gothic  tower  of  most 
unparalleled  lightness  and  elegance. 

"  The  gloominess  of  this  city  is  augmented  by  the  dismal  dress 
of  the  women  ;  the  maid  servants  wearing  a  large  square  piece  of 
black  stuff  over  their  heads  like  a  hood  ;  and  women  of  the  bet- 
ter sort,  a  kind  of  long  cloak  of  white  camblet  with  a  hood, 
almost  concealing  their  faces. 

"  July  22d.  After  breakfast  we  sallied  forth  to  view  pictures 
and  churches.  We  first  saw  a  private  collection,  then  St.  James's 
church,  the  academy  of  painting  or  school  of  Rubens,  and  lastly 
the  cathedral  church  of  Notre  Dame  All  the  fine  pieces  we  saw 
were  eclipsed  by  the  master-piece  of  Rubens  in  this  last  church, 
the  taking  down  from  the  cross,  with  the  Annunciation  on  one 
side  and  the  Purification  on  the  other.  It  is  impossible  to  con- 
ceive painting  to  go  beyond  this  ;  but  the  solemnity  of  the  effect 
is  somewhat  diminished  by  being  shown  the  portraits  of  Rubens's 
three  wives  among  the  figures. 

"The  splendour  and  dignity  of  the  objects  in  this  church,  the 
paintings,  statues,  marble,  sculpture  and  gilding,  with  the  sump- 
tuous habits  of  the  priests  officiating,  were  very  imposing  on  the 
mind,  and  powerfully  apologised  to  me  for  the  attachment  shown 
to  so  childish  and  irrational  a  religion.  Nothing  struck  me  more 
than  the  fixed  statue-like  attention  of  the  people  who  were  pay- 
ing their  devotions  in  different  parts  of  the  church.  Not  a  look 
was  turned  aside  as  we  passed  before  them.  In  some  the  finest 
attitudes  and  expressions  of  humility  and  devotion  were  to  seen; 
and  I  could  not  doubt  but  a  great  deal  also  was/e//  by  the  heart; 
but  the  nature  and  value  of  those  feelings  seemed  very  equivocal. 
The  Madonna  of  Rubens  must  excite  emotions  in  the  most  in- 
sensible, and,  in  fact,  the  Virgin  seems  to  have  usurped  all 
honours  here.  She  is  the  Venus  of  the  Roman  Catholic  worship; 
a  chaster  Venus,  but  still  conveying  the  idea  of  a  beautiful  fe- 
male. There  are  in  this  church  two  very  fine  and  affecting  pic- 
tures, the  death  and  ascension  of  the  Virgin. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  57 

"  Tlie  women  at  prayers  were  wrapt  up  in  their  white  cloaks 
and  hoods,  which  prevented  the  necessity  of  all  dress  at  this  ear- 
ly time  of  the  day. 

"  At  eleven  we  crossed  the  Scheldt  in  a  boat,  and  got  a  chaise 
on  the  other  sid^  to  carry  us  to  Ghent.  We  proceeded  through 
an  inclosed  and  highly  cultivated  country,  growing  much  corn* 
buck,  wheat,  and  fine  flax.  The  road  in  some  parts  was  very 
heavy  and  sandy.  We  dined  at  a  small  inn  in  a  village  called 
Westminster.  From  thence  the  country  became  more  populous, 
and  we  passed  one  considerable  town  where  there  seemed  to  be  a 
manufacture  of  linen.  Several  fine  villages  lay  in  our  road, 
among  which  was  one  extremely  neat,  most  of  the  houses  being 
white,  sashed,  with  green  window  shutters.  I  got  out  at  one 
place  and  walked,  while  the  chaise  was  baiting,  along  a  pleasant 
road  with  rov/s  of  trees,  under  which  was  a  cheerful  group  of 
people  dressing  green  flax.  One  of  the  men  conversed  with  me 
in  French. 

"  Near  eight  we  arrived  at  Ghent;  the  evening  so  rainy  that  we 
could  not  stir  out.  Our  inn  here  had  the  appearance  of  having 
been  a  nobleman's  house.  It  also  boasted  of  having  lodged  the 
Emperor;  and  it  lodged  us  very  well. 

"  July  23d,  We  left  Ghent  at  eight,  taking  a  coach  (as  it  still 
rained)  to  the  canal.  All  we  saw  of  this  city  was  therefore,. in 
driving  throught  it.  It  appears  a  large  old  town,  with  many 
grand  buildings. 

"  We  embarked  pn  the  Bruges  canal  on  board  a  vessel  with 
one  mast,  very  elegantly  fitted  up,  with  a  very  handsome  cabin 
at  each  end,  and  a  kitchen  and  other  rooms  between.  The 
quarter  deck  was  covered  with  an  awning.  The  company  was 
amotley  group  of  ladies,  gentlemen,  priests  and  common  people. 
We  had  an  agreeable  party,  in  one  of  the  cabins,  of  some 
gentlemen  and  two  ladies  from  Bruges,  who  spoke  French  as 
their  native  tongue.  They  were  polite  and  well  educated,  brown 
and  rather  thin,  with  black  eyes  and  easy  lively  manners.  I  re- 
marked some  circumstances  which  showed  that  female  delicacy 
was  not  quite  the  same  thing  in  Flanders  as  in  England. 

"  We   proceeded    slowly,  drawn   against  the  wind  by  horses. 

A  dinner  was  cooked  on  board,  and  fifteen  or  sixteen  of  us  sat 

down  to  it,  among  whom  were  half  a  dozen  priests,  who  joined 

with  cheerfulness  and  good  appetite.    It  was  a  meagre  day,  and 

H 


58  MEMOIR  OF 

we  had  fish  in  various  fashions,  well  dressed  and  neatly  served 
up.  Our  wine  was  laid  in  ice. 

"  The  Flemish  seem  in  general  much  livelier  than  the  Dutch, 
French  is  very  commonly  understood  by  all  ranks  ;  and  those 
who  read  are  acquainted  with  French  and  English  literature. 

"  We  drank  tea  on  board,  and  reached  Bruges  between  four 
and  five.  We  were  obliged  to  go  immediately  from  the  bark  to 
the  Ostend  diligence ;  so  we  saw  nothing  of  Bruges  but  in  driv- 
ing through  it.  We  passed  a  handsome  market  place  and  town 
house ;  but  the  buildings  in  general  seemed  inferior  to  Antwerp 
and  Ghent. 

"  In  the  diligence  were  nine  people,  exclusive  of  a  child  at  the 
breast.  Though  our  machine  was  none  of  the  most  commodi- 
ous, we  were  jumbled  into  good  humour.  We  baited  half  way, 
when  our  women  passengers  by  means  of  a  draught  of  small 
brisk  white  wine  were  thrown  into  a  very  merry  humour,  and  we 
had  nothing  afterwards  but  giggling  and  laughing,  especially 
from  one  young  woman,  pretty,  and  very  voluble  in  Flemish 
French.  The  road  was  a  pavement,  very  straight,  through  a 
sandy  country  where  many  potatoes  are  grown. 

"  AVe  reached  Ostend  at  half  past  nine,  and  went  to  a  very  com- 
fortable (but  dear)  English  house,  where  we  supped  in  our  own 
fashion  with  a  company  almost  all  English. 

"July  24th.  I  was  up  early,  and  paid  a  visit  to  the  principal 
church,  a  tawdry  place,  with  much  Roman  Catholic  finery. 
Some  persons  were  already  paying  their  devotions.  On  return- 
ing, I  was  much  surprised  and  pleased  to  find  Mr.  and  Mrs.  E. 
in  our  inn,  come  on  purpose  from  Bruges  to  see  me.  We  walk- 
ed over  the  town  with  them  and  their  daughter,  a  girl  of  about 
ten,  who  speaks  four  languages.  Ostend  is  a  tolerable  town, 
with  many  handsome  new  buildings  run  up  during  the  war  Its 
busy  days  seemed  almost  over,  though  the  arrival  of  some  impe- 
rial East  Indiamen  had  thrown  a  little  life  on  the  place.  We 
observed  several  of  the  sailors,  with  very  dusky  faces,  straw  hats 
and  singular  dresses,  offering  trinkets  to  sell. 

"  After  passing  a  most  agreeable  morning  and  dining  all  to- 
gether at  the  ordinary,  we  took  a  reluctant  leave  of  our  friends, 
and  embarked  at  half  past  four  in  a  small  Margate  vessel.  Dr. 
K.  a  young  English  physician,  to  whom  I  had  introduced  my- 
self at  Ostend,  was  one  of  our  company.  There  were,  besides, 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  59 

a  foreign  gentleman,  a  French  quack  and  his  wife,  and  an  old 
Fleming. 

"The  wind  was  almost  directly  contrary :  and  we  were  oblig- 
ed to  make  many  tacks  before  we  could  clear  the  harbour.  The 
night  was  boisterous;  the  vessel  pitched  much,  and  we  made  a 
very  slow  advance. 

"  July  25th.  Wind  still  contrary  and  high.  We  descried  the 
North  Foreland  soon  in  the  afternoon,  but  approached  it  very 
slowly.  At  length  we  saw  the  white  cliffs  distinctly.  Porpoises 
were  tumbling  around  us  ;  and  the  birds  called  divers,  swimming 
among  the  high  waves,  sometimes  disappearing,  and  then  riding 
sublime  on  the  very  ridge  of  the  wave,  amused  us  much.  We 
were  so  long  in  working  into  the  harbour,  that  we  did  not  land 
till  past  nine  at  night  at  Margate. 

"  July  26th.  We  rose  very  early,  and  viewed  the  town,  finely 
situated  on  the  open  sea,  from  which  it  is  protected  by  a  natural 
and  uniform  wall  of  chalk  rocks  running  for  miles  along  the 
shore.  There  are  several  handsome  new  buildings  in  the  Lon- 
don style  for  the  accommodation  of  bathers,  and  many  bathing 
machines  lie  round  the  bason.  Before  six  we  set  off  with  Dr.  K. 
in  a  chaise  for  London,  were  we  arrived  at  six  in  the  evening.'* 
From  London  the  new  graduate  returned  to  his  family  at  War- 
rington, but  with  the  intention  of  quitting  the  place  whenever 
such  prospects  should  open  to  him  in  any  other  town  as  might 
justify  the  experiment  of  removal. 

After  some  months  spent  in  inquiries,  he  received  information 
of  a  vacancy  about  to  occur  by  the  departure  of  one  of  the  two 
physicians  who  divided  the  practice  of  the  town  of  Yarmouth  in 
Norfolk  ;  and  this  intelligence  was  accompanied  with  such  assu- 
rances of  support  from  some  of  the  inhabitants,  to  whom  his 
connections  were  well  known,  as  determined  him  to  settle  there. 
Notwithstanding  the  circumstances  which  had  rendered  him 
justly  dissatisfied  with  his  professional  situation  at  Warrington, 
his  feelings  on  the  near  prospect  of  departure  made  him  sensible, 
that  in  the  way  of  social  and  friendly  enjoyment  he  had  many  sa- 
crifices to  make  in  quitting  that  county  which  had  extended  so  affec- 
tionate an  adoption  to  his  parents,  his  sister,  and  himself;  and  which 
was  the  scene  of  all  the  dearest  recollections  cf  his  youth,  and  the 
birth  place  of  his  children.  The  position  of  Warrington  enabled 
him  to  keep  up  an  agreeable  intercourse  with  his  friends  at  Ches  = 


00  MEMOIR  OF 

ter,  and  especially  with  the  dearest  arid  most  intimate  of  them,  Dr. 
Haygarth  ;— it  afforded  similar  or  greater  facilities  with  respect 
to  his  Manchester  connections,  who  had  recently  marked  their  re- 
spect for  him  by  electing  him  a  member  of  their  newly  established 
Philosophical  and  Literary  Society: — and  its  station  between 
this  place  and  Liverpool  gave  him  the  advantage  of  the  half  way 
meetings  which  often  took  place  between  the  members  of  the 
medical  profession  belonging  to  these  two  populous  and  rising 
towns.  Some  circumstances  of  this  nature  procured  him  occa- 
sional interviews  with  Dr.  Percival  and  Dr.  Bell  of  Manchester, 
with  Dr.  Dobson  of  Liverpool,  and  especially  with  the  late  Dr. 
James  Currie  of  the  same  place.  Towards  this  accomplished, 
enlightened,  and  eminently  excellent  person,  he  found  himself 
so  strongly  attracted  by  a  similarity  of  tastes  and  pursuits, 
and  a  conformity  of  views  on  some  of  the  most  important 
topics  of  human  speculation,  that  a  very  little  more  oppor- 
tunity was  alone  wanting  to  mature  what  was  already  social  in- 
timacy into  perfect  friendship  ;  and  enough  was  done  to  impress 
both  parties  with  a  lasting  esteem,  and  an  unfailing  concern  for 
each  other's  welfare,  and  to  confer  on  the  very  few  opportunities 
of  intercourse  which  were  afterwards  granted  them,  a  character 
of  the  mostvlively  interest.* 

lie  had  likewise  enjoyed  opportunities  of  forming  other  ac- 
quaintances among  the  inhabitants  of  Liverpool  which  he  justly 
regarded  as  equally  agreeable  and  advantageous.  The  distin- 
guished biographer  of  Lorenzo  de*  Medici  and  Leo  X.,  then 
young  and  unknown  to  the  world,  but  already  credited  by  his 
friends  for  the  various  abilities  which  he  has  since  made  mani- 
fest, was  one  of  those  whose  society  he  peculiarly  valued,  and 
whose  character  he  contemplated  with  the  most  cordial  senti- 
ments of  esteem  and  affection  ; — these  sentiments  were  mutual, 
and  their  strength  has  since  been  proved  by  a  friendship  which 
knew  but  one  termination.! 


*  'I'll--  present  writer,  who,  many  years  since,  enjoyed  much  of  the  pleasure  and 

advani:i^    <»l    Dr.  Cm  he's  society  during  a  visit  to  Liverpool,  can  never  forget  the 

minute  :i»«l    .M-.,. -st  manner  m  which  lit-  <]Hestioncd  her  respecting  her  father's  Sen. 

.'.MJT  a,,<|   momentous  subjects  ;  and  the  animated  expression 

lui  c  with  w  i  tmi'-i!,  at  the  end  of  tins  examination — "  Then  he  is 

tn  I  knew  twem.  \  c:trs  ago!" 

f  'I'ii-.  following  particulars  of  the  early  period  of  their  acquaintance,  communi- 
cated to  me  by  Mr.  Koscoe  himself,  are  too  characteristic  as  well  as  pleasing  to  be 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  61 

With  so  many  social  ties  to  be  broken,  Dr.  Aikin  might  be  ex- 
cused for  regarding  his  removal  to  a  distant  part  of  the  king- 
dom, where  he  possessed  not  a  single  friend  and  scarcely  even 
an  acquaintance,  as  a  severe  trial  of  fortitude.  He  thus  expresses 
himself  respecting  it  to  Dr.  Haygarth,  by  whose  persuasions 

chiefly  he   had  been  urged  to  assume  his   new  character. 

*'  Should  any  thing  prevent  your  coining  hither,  1  shall  certainly 
make  a  point  of  visiting  you  before  my  departure,  for  God  knows 
when  we  shall  meet  again.  If  .success  in  my  profession  was  not 
the  first  concern  in  my  situation,  I  should  be  strongly  disposed 
to  reject  any  offers  which  would  remove  me  so  far  from  friends  I 
cordially  love  and  esteem.  But  we  are  in  a  world  that  demands 
continual  sacrifices,  and  happiness  is  only  to  be  acquired  by  ac- 
commodating ourselves  with  good  humour  to  our  several  neces- 
sities/' 

It  was  at  the  close  of  the  year  1784  that  Dr.  Aikin  with  his 
family  quitted  Warrington  on  their  journey  to  Norfolk  :  his  ex- 
cellent mother,  who  had  resided  in  his  house  from  the  period  of 
her  husband's  death,  resolved  still  to  accompany  the  dearest  ob- 
jects of  her  affection ;  but  stopping  by  the  way  at  the  house  of 
her  daughter  in  Suffolk,  she  there  manifested  symptoms  of  decay 
which  in  a  short  period  terminated  in  her  death.  The  rest  ol 
the  family  speedily  arrived  at  the  place  of  their  destination,  and 
began  to  examine  with  eager  interest  the  new  scenes  which  open- 
ed upon  them. 


omitted. *'  It  is  a  satisfaction   to  my  mind  to  express  to  one  so  dear. to  him  the 

sincere  and  afflctionate  attachment  I  entertained  tor  him,  and  the  gratitude  I  owe  to 
him  for  the  advantages  derived  from  his  friendship  and  soei-'ty  at  an  early  period  of 
my  life.  My  long  acquaintance  with  him  is  indeed  connected  with  the  most  pleasing 
recollections.  From  having  accompanied  him  to  his  little  botanical  garden  in  the 
vicinity  of  Warrington,  I  first  imbibed  a  relish  for  those  pursuits  ;  and  I  well  remem- 
ber that,  on  his  recommendation,  I  was  first  led  to  the  perusal  of  the  modern  wri- 
ters of  Latin  poetry, which  has  since  afforded  me  an  inexhaustible  source  of  pleasure." 
In  reference  to  the  modern  Lutin  poets,  I  would  observe,  that  it  is  somewhat  re- 
markable that  the  admiration  which  my  father  certainly  entertained  for  them,  lias 
not  left  stronger  traces  in  his  works.  Two  translations,  however,  of  short  pieces, 
one  of  them  by  Fracastorius,  the  olherby  Janus  Etruscus,  are  included  in  his  volume 
of  poems.  I  know  that  he  accounted  Fracastorius  as  the  first  of  these  writers,  espe- 
cially in  the  didactic  style  :  the  others  whom  he  most  admired  were  Sadoletus,  Pon- 
?anus,  Sannazaro,  Politianus,  and — for  classical  purity  of  style  rather  than  originality 
or  brilliancy  of  imagination — Bembus.  The  Psalms  of  Buchanan  stood  very  high 
in  his  estimate  in  the  class  of  translations,  and  some  of  Joi  tin's  odes,  especially  that 
Jld  Tempus,  he  considered  as  of  first  rate  excellence.  Full  accounts  of  the  Latin 
poets  of  modern  Italy  are  contained  in  Mr.  Roscoe's  Life  of  Leo  the  Tenth. 


62  MEMOIR  OF 

Planted  on  a  narrow  strip  of  sand  jutting  out  into  the  German 
Ocean,  and  exposed  to  the  full  fury  of  the  north-eastern  blasts 
which  sweep  along  that  flat  unsheltered  coast,  and  suffer  not  a 
tree  or  a  bush  to  raise  its  head  with  impunity, — nothing  can 
easily  be  imagined  more  dreary  than  the  situation  of  Yarmouth 
and  the  immediately  adjacent  country.  The  town  itself,  how- 
ever, though  strangely  cramped  in  its  mode  of  building  within 
the  circuit  of  its  ancient  walls,  is  recommended  by  a  striking  air 
of  cheerfulness  and  neatness,  and  boasts  one  of  the  finest  quays 
in  the  kingdom.  The  manners  of  the  lower  class  are  remarka- 

^ 

bly  decent  and  civilised  ;  and  as  much  of  literature  and  refine- 
ment prevailed  at  this  time  among  the  richer  part  of  the  commu- 
nity, as  could  reasonably  be  expected  in  a  commercial  town  of 
the  second  rank,  occupying  a  remote  corner  of  the  island. 

There  was  no  cause  for  complaint  in  the  reception  given  to  the 
newly-arrived  family  by  the  general  society  of  the  place.  A  con- 
siderable number  of  the  principal  people  commenced  an  acquain- 
tance with  them,  and  it  soon  appeared  that  they  might  be  occu- 
pied in  visiting  even  more  than  they  desired.  But  a  very  short 
trial  was  sufficient  to  convince  Dr.  Aikin  that  he  had  been  con- 
siderably deceived,  both  as  to  the  whole  quantity  of  medical 
practice  which  the  town  was  capable  of  affording,  and  the  pro- 
portion of  it  which  was  likely  to  fall  to  his  share.  The  other 
physician  was  already  established  and  well  supported  ;  and  as 
the  field  was  clearly  too  narrow  for  two,  he  was  speedily  per- 
suaded that  he  had  not  yet  found  a  lasting  settlement;  though 
ic  felt  it*  the  part  of  wisdom  to  afford  himself  time  for  a 
fair  trial  of  the  resources  of  his  present  situation.  Under  these 
impressions,  it  may  readily  be  imagined  that  the  first  year  of  his 
residence  at  Yarmouth  was  one  of  the  most  anxious  periods  of 
his  life  ;  and  not  a  little  credit  seems  due  to  the  spirit  of  prac- 
tical philosophy  and  the  disposition  to  be  easily  pleased  and  in- 
terested, apparent  in  the  following  passages  of  letters  written  to 
his  sister  during  this  period. 

April  7th,  1785.  "  While  you  have  had  Siberian  blasts,  we  at 
Yarmouth  have  not  altogether  lived  on  zephyrs.  The  cry  of  our 
niglit  watchmen,  'North-north-east  is  the  wind — North-north- 
east,' had  become  perfectly  familiar  to  our  ears ;  and  the  grand 
fciiiht  of  about  five  hundred  ships  at  anchor  waiting  for  a  southern 
breeze,  had  lost  all  its  effect  upon  us,  from  its  duration.  From 
Monday  things  have  changed  a  little,  but  the  wind  has  again  got 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  63 

round  to  its  old  quarter — My  poor  Calendar  has  appeared  at  an 
unfortunate  time  for  its  credit,  and  I  doubt  it  will  be  reckoned 
as  fallacious  as  Poor  Robin  or  Wing. 

"  Thanks  for  your  invitation  of  G .  He  and  \ve  gladly  ac- 
cept it,  and  you  will  perhaps  shortly  see  us  whisking  it  over  your 
green  in  a  Yarmouth  cart.*  He  is  a  useful  man,  though,  to  us, 
in  our  rambles  with  the  children  by  the  seaside,  where  my  wife 
and  I  are  as  much  amused  as  the  young  ones  in  picking  up  shells, 
pebbles,  and  sea  weed.  We  are  beginning  to  make  a  collection t 
or  museum,  if  you  please,  which  you  may  one  day  view  with  much 
delight  and  instruction.  I  do  not  intend,  however,  td  turn  show- 
man, like  Sir  Ashton,  as  I  begin  to  have  a  prospect  of  a  better 
trade  in  my  own  profession.  I  assure  you,  things  mend  upon 
me,  and  all  the  world  does  not  continue  so  obstinately  healthy, 
or  so  afraid  of  a  physician.  I  have  had,  and  now  have,  some  pa- 
tients. My  rival  is  one  of  my  most  familiar  and  agreeable  ac- 
quaintance, and  I  find  several  more  whose  company  is  better  than 
none.'* 

Late  in  the  month  of  September,  writing  to  Mrs.  Barbauld, 
who  was  then  on  a  tour  in  France,  he  describes  himself  as  with- 
out medical  employment  at.  that  time  ;  and  laments  that  the  pub- 
lication of  Rousseau's  Letters  on  Botany,  with  some  additional 
ones  by  Mr.  Martyn,  had  superseded  a  favourite  scheme  of  his 
own  ;  but  consoles  himself  with  the  translation  of  Tacitus  which 
he  had  resumed  as  a  winter  employment.  He  mentions  the 
pleasure  of  a  visit  from  his  beloved  friend  Dr.  Enfield,  whom  a 
fortunate  invitation  from  a  congregation  at  Norwich  had  now 
brought  to  reside  within  twenty  miles  of  him ;  and  afterwards 
he  proceeds  thus : 

"  We  have  had  a  good  deal  of  amusement  here  from  the  annual 
visit  of  the  Dutch  fishermen.  About  fifty  of  their  schuyts  came 
up  our  river,  and  lay  for  three  or  four  days  at  the  quay,  in  an 
uniform  regular  line.  The  town  was  filled  with  great  breeches, 
and  on  the  Sunday  all  the  country  flocked  in  to  see  the  sight,  so 
that  the  whole  length  of  the  quay  was  crowded.  The  gradual  ap- 
proach of  the  schuyts  with  their  yellow  sails  glittering  in  the  sun? 


*  A  low  open  carriage,  of  very  simple  construction  and  humble  appearance,  com- 
monly used  by  the  inhabitants  of  Yarmouth,  as  peculiarly  adapted  to  their  narrow 
lanes  called  Ro~v$, 


64  MEMOIR  OF 

and  their  progress  up  the  river  in  aline  one  after  the  other,  were 
very  striking  spectacles 

"But  how  I  long  to  be  with  you,  '  To  quaff  the  pendent  vin- 
tage as  it  grows  ;'  to  see  a  gay  people  in  their  gayest  mood,  and 
lead  the  dance  with  a  sun  burnt  Champenoise  on  the  green  turf! 
Here,  different  employ!  we  are  fitting  out  fishing-boats,  prepar- 
ing nets  and  cordage,  launching  to  sea,  and  hunting  out  for  the 
mighty  shoals  of  herrings  in  their  annual  migration.  Already 
some  are  brought  in,  and  carts  loaded  with  them  are  now  driv- 
ing by.  Here  is  industry,  and  here  are  the  sources  of  wealth ; 
but  where  are  pleasure,  and  elegance  and  vivacity  ?  If  employ- 
ments must  give  a  tincture  and  flavour  to  those  occupied  in  them, 
surely  one  would  prefer  the  perfume  of  the  grape  to  the  stench  of 
a  herring." 

The  inspiring  influence  of  his  sister's  letters,  describing  alter- 
nately the  gay  and  the  sublime  scenes  which  opened  to  her  on 
her  journey,  and  rendered  still  more  impressive,  perhaps,  by  the 
contrast  of  his  own  situation,  roused  all  his  poetic  talent,  and 
produced  soon  after  an  epistle  to  her  in  verse,  which  well  de- 
serves to  be  quoted  among  the  most  pleasing  records  of  the  wri- 
ter's mind : 

To  Mrs.  Barbauld,  at  Geneva. 

"  From  Yare's  low  banks,  where  through  the  marshy  plain 
He  leads  his  scanty  tribute  to  the  main, 
On  sea-girt  Albion's  furthest  Eastern  bouml 
Whr re  direful  shoals  extend  their  bulwark  round, — 
To  thee  I  turn,  my  sister  and  my  friend  ! 
On  thee  from  far  the  mental  vision  bend. 
O'er  land,  o'er  sea,  freed  Fancy  speeds  her  flight, 
Waves  the  light  wing,  and  towers  her  airy  height : 
And  now  the  chalky  cliffs  behind  her  fly, 
And  Gallia's  realms  in  brilliant  prospect  lie  ; 
Now  rivers,  plains,  and  woods  and  vales  are  cross'd, ' 
And  many  a  scene  in  gay  confusion  lost, 
Till  'mid  Burgundian  hills  she  joins  her  chase, 
And  social  pleasure  crowns  the  rapid  race. 

"  Fair  land !  by  nature  drck'd,  and  graced  by  art, 
Alike  to  cheer  the  eye  and  glad  the  heart, 
Pour  thy  soft  influence  through  Lsetitia's  breast, 
And  lull  each  swelling  wave  of  care  to  njst ; 
Heal  with  swet't  balm  the  wounds  of  pain  and  toil, 
Bid  anxious,  busy  years  restore  their  spoil ; 
The  spirits  light,  the  vigorous  soul  infuse, 
And,  to  requite  thy  gifts,  bring  back  tke  Muse. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN. 

For  sure  that  Muse,  whose  far-resounding  strains 
Ennobled  Cyriius'  rocks  and  Mersey's  plains, 
Shall  here  with  boldest  touch  awake  the  lyre, 
Soar  to  new  heights,  and  glow  with  brighter  fire. 
Methinks  I  hear  the  sweetly-warbled  note 
On  Seine's  meand'ring  bosom  gently  float ; 
Suzon's  rude  vale  repeats  the  charming  voice, 
And  all  around  the  vine-clad  hills  rejoice : 

"  Now  all  thy  grots,  Auxcelles!  with  music  sound ; 
From  crystal  roofs  and  vaults  the  strains  rebound : 
Besancon's  splendid  towers  the  song  partake, 
And  breezes  wait  it  to  the  Leinan  lake. 
Delightful  lake  !  whose  margin  gay  and  green 
Smiles  in  soft  contrast  to  the  rugged  scene 
Of  stern  brow'd  Alps,  where  storms  eternal  roll, 
How  must  thy  varied  charms  entrance  the  soul ! 
With  what  high  passions  must  thy  prospect  move 
The  heart  that  beats  to  libertj  and  love ! 
Around,  fair  Freedom  builds  her  lofty  throne, 
And  rocks  and  valour  guard  it  for  her  own; 
Wlule  deep  within  embowering  shades  conceal'd, 
To  none  but  Cupid's  mystic  band  reveal Jd, 
Clarens  !  thy  roofs  ascend,  with  turrets  crown'd, 
And  love  and  Julia  fill  th'  enchanted  ground. 

"Such,  ray  Lsetitia,  on  thyravish'd  eyes 
Bursts  the  bright  scene,  the  vivid  landscapes  rise  ; 
While  from  my  sight  the  air-drawn  pictures  fade, 
And  Fancy's  glass  bedimm'd  denies  its  aid  ; 
The  colours  melt,  the  lines  dissolve  in  space, 
And  cold  realities  usurp  the  place. 

"  What  different  scenes  succeed  ! — a  steril  shore, 
Long  level  plains,  the  restless  ocean's  roar, 
The  rattling  car,  the  shipwright's  sturdy  toil, 
The  far-spread  net,  and  heaps  of  finny  spoil. 
Keen  Eurus  here  sweeps  o'er  th'  unshelter'd  land, 
Shakes  the  strong  dome,  and  whirls  the  loosen'd  sand 
Fair  Flora  shrinks,  the  trees  averted  bend, 
While  their  thin  boughs  a  scanty  shade  extend: 
And,  for  the  flowering  thicket's  cheerful  notes, 
Here  hungry  sea-fowl  stretch  their  clamorous  throats. 

"And  yet,  e'en  here,  the  soul-directed  sight, 
Which  nature's  views  in  ev'ry  form  delight, 
May  catch,  as  o'er  the  brighten'd  scene  they  gleam, 
Grandeur's  strong  ray,  or  beauty's  softer  beam. 
Frequent  along  the  pebbly  beach  I  pace, 
And  gaze  inteut  on  ocean's  vary  ing  face. 
Now  from  the  main  rolls  in  the  swelling  tide, 
And  waves  on  waves  in  long  procession  ride  ; 
Galh'ring  they  come,  till,  gainM  the  ridgy  height. 
No  more  the  liquid  mound  sustains  its  weight ; 


66  MEMOIR  OF 

It  curls,  it  falls,  it  brenks  with  hideous  roar, 
And  pours  a  foamy  deluge  on  the  shore. 
From  the  blewk  pole  now  driving  tempests  sweep, 
Tear  the  light  clouds,  and  vex  the  ruffled  deep, 
White  oVr  the  shoals  the  spouting  breakers  rise, 
And  mix  the  waste  of  waters  with  the  skies: 
The  anchoring  vessels,  stretch'd  in  long  array, 
Shake  from  their  bounding  sides  the  dashing  spray  ; 
Lab'ring  they  heave,  the  tighten'd  cables  strain, 
And  danger  adds  new  horror  to  the  main. 
Then  shifts  the  scene,  as  to  the  western  gales 
Delighted  Commerce  spreads  her  crowded  sails. 
A  cluster'd  group  the  distant  fleets  appear, 
That  scatt'ring  breaks  in  varied  figures  near : 
Now,  all  illumn'd  by  the  kindling  ray, 
8 wan-like,  the  stately  vessel  cuts  her  way  ; 
The  full-wing'd  barks  now  meet,  now  swiftly  pass, 
And  leave,  long  traces  in  the  liquid  glass  : 
Light  bouts,  all  sail,  athwart  the  current  bound, 
And  dot  \vith  shilling  specks  the  surface  round. 
Nor  with  the  day  the  sea-born  splendours  cease  : 
When  evening  lulls  each  ruder  gale  to  peace, 
The  rising  moon  with  silvery  lustre  gleams, 
And  shoots  across  the  flood  her  quivering  beams. 
Or  if  dt  rp  gloom  succeeds  the  sultry  day, 
On  ocean's  bosom  native  meteors  play, 
Flash  from  the  wave,  pursue  the  dipping  oar, 
And  roll  in  flaming  billows  to  the  shore. 

"  'Tis  thus,  within  this  narrow  nook  confined, 
I  strive  to  feed  with  change  th'  insatiate  mind, 
Bui  surer  aid  the  Muses'  stores  impart, 
With  each  new  world  of  science  and  of  art  ; 
And,  more  than  all,  the  joys  of  sacred  home 
Forbid  my  heart  to  pant,  my  fret  to  roam. 
Yet  one  dear  wish  still  struggles  in  my  breasl, 
And  points  one  darling  object  unpossess'd  : 
How  many  years  have  whirl  'd  their  rapid  course 
Since  we,  sole  streamlets  from  one  honourM  source, 
In  fond  affection  as  in  blood  allied, 
Have  wander'd  devious  from  each  other's  side  ; 
Allowed  to  catch  alone  some  transient  view, 
Scarce  long  enough  to  think  the  vision  true; 
()  then,  while  yet  some  zest  of  life  remains, 
While  transport  yet  can  swell  the  beating  veins. 
While  sweet  remembrance  keeps  her  wonted  seat, 
And  fancy  still  retains  some  genial  heat, 
Wlicn  evening  bids  each  busy  t:^k  be  o'er, 
Once  let  us  meet  again, — to  part  no  more! 

A  year  of  experiment  was  sufficient  entirely  to  convince  Dr. 
\ikin  of  the  correctness  of  his  first  judgment  concerning  the 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN. 

probable  unproductiveness  of  Yarmouth  to  him,  as  a  medical  sta- 
tion ;  and  he  was  now  fully  bent  on  a  change  of  residence.  The 
choice  of  a  new  scene  of  action  still  however  remained  matter  of 
anxious  deliberation,  till  his  doubts  were  ended  in  the  manner 
related  in  the  following  letter  to  Dr.  Haygarth,  dated  December, 
1785. 

"  You  will,  I  doubt  not,  my  dear  friend,  be  pleased  to  hear, 
that  after  my  discussion  and  rejection  of  so  many  schemes  for 
a  change  in  my  situation,  I  have  at  length  come  to  a  determina- 
tion. The  decision  is  a  bold  one,  but  I  hope  it  is  well  weighed, 
and  that  it  will  appear  to  my  friends  as  well  as  myself,  not  too 
hazardous.  London  is  the  place,  after  all,  where  I  am  to  make 
my  efforts.  The  prize  is  worthy  of  a  contest,  though  I  confess  it 
would  be  little  consolation  to  have  it  said,  in  case  of  a  failure, 
'  magnis  tamen  excidit  ausis.' 

"I  took  a  journey,  about  three  weeks  since,  to  Bedfordshire 
and  St.  Albans,  to  reconnoitre  there,  where  I  have  connections ; 
but  I  could  find  little  encouragement.  Thence  I  went  to  Lon- 
don and  saw  all  my  relations  and  friends,  and,  to  my  surprise, 
found  them  almost  unanimous  in  advising  me  to  venture  at  the 
metropolis,  with  such  assurances  of  support,  or  confidence  of  pre- 
sage, that  all  my  fears  and  reluctancies  at  length  gave  way,  and 
I  left  town  with  a  resolution  to  prepare  as  soon  as  possible  for 

my  settlement  there In  the  line  I  am  to  follow,  I  do  not 

think  it  will  be  of  so  much  consequence  to  make  a  noise,  as  as- 
siduously to  cultivate  all  private  friendships  and  acquaintances, 
and  to  get  introduced  as  much  as  possible  to  families.  Yet  if  an 
hospital,  or  a  partnership  in  lecturing  should  be  easily  procura- 
ble, I  shall  certainly  offer  myself.  In  short,  it  is  my  resolution 
to  be  active  and  pushing,  and  even  to  force  my  natural  disposi- 
tion, if  it  stands  in  my  way." 

With  these  prospects  and  resolutions,  he  removed  to  London, 
and  fixed  himself  with  his  family  in  the  city;  where  the  chief 
strength  of  his  connections  at  that  time  lay.  The  fame  of  his 
literary  productions  had  preceded  him  in  many  quarters ;  and 
as  it  may  safely  be  affirmed  in  his  case,  that  the  man  never 
disappointed  the  warmest  admirers  of  the  author,  he  found  him- 
self rapidly  making  his  way  in  society,  and  beginning  to  unite 
the  general  suffrage  to  the  cordial  attachment  of  relations  and 
family  friends.  With  so  much  in  his  reception  to  flatter  self- 
applause,  and  minister  food  to  ambition,  added  to  the  common 


68  MEMOIR  OF 

attractions  of  the  metropolis  for  every  inquiring  mind  and  ac- 
tive spirit, — his  relinquishment  of  his  new  situation  within  the 
space  of  four  months,  was  a  sacrifice  of  the  brilliant  to  the 
solid, — or,  to  speak  more  truly,  of  immediate  personal  gratifica- 
tion, to  the  security  and  welfare  of  his  family,  which  must  be 
contemplated,  by  the  most  indifferent,  with  respect  and  appro- 
bation, and  can  never  be  recalled  by  the  immediate  objects  of  so 
generous  a  self  devotion,  without  the  liveliest  emotions  of  grati- 
tude. An  event  of  the  most  unexpected  nature  was  the  source  of 
this  total  change  of  plan  :  This  was  the  sudden  dereliction  of  his 
situation  by  the  physician  who  had  remained  at  Yarmouth  in 
full  possession  of  the  field.  The  result  is  thus  communicated  by 
Dr.  Aikin,  in  a  letter  to  his  sister. 

"  Immediately  on  this  event,  an  invitation  to  me  was 

drawn  up,  and  signed  by  almost  every  body  of  all  parties  in  the 
town,  promising  their  utmost  support  in  case  I  would  return. 
Such  a  testimory  of  respect  and  attachment  could  not  but  move 
me  ;  and  the  idea  of  immediately  coming  into  the  undisturbed 
possession  of  a  decent  competence,  instead  of  the  expensive  and 
precarious  struggle  for  distant  success  in  London,  operated  very 
powerfully  in  a  prudential  view.  For  though  I  have  met  with 
many  civilities  here,  and  formed  many  agreeable  acquain- 
tances, yet,  on  the  whole,  I  am  more  sensible  than  before  of  the 
length  of  time  and  effort  necessary  to  make  ones  way  in  town.  I 
laid  the  whole  state  of  the  case  before  my  nearest  friends  and 
idations,  and  we  endeavoured  to  make  some  calculation  of  a 
moderate  certainty,  compared  to  a  splendid  uncertainty.  But 
all  seemed  to  agree,  that  prudence  could  not  hesitate  in  deter- 
mining for  the  former. 

"  Inclination  pleaded  most  strongly,  with  both  my  wife  and 
myself,  to  stay  amidst  our  dearest  connections,  and  enjoy  that 
sweet  society  which  would  soon  be  probably  augmented  by  so 
dear  an  addition  as  yourselves.  But  the  good  of  our  family  was 
a  consideration  not  to  be  surmounted,  and  we  could  not  make 
ourselves  easy  in  hazarding  their  advantage  for  the  sake  of  our 
own  enjoyment.  I  was  compelled,  therefore,  to  accept  the  flat- 
tering otter  made  me  ;  and  as  the  case  would  not  admit  delay,  I 
wrote  immediately,  and  am  to  go  down  to  take  possession  of  my 
post  to-morrow 

"  To  attempt  to  describe  the  crowd  of  mixed  emotions  which 
agitate  me  on  this  occasion,  would  only  aggravate  whatever  there 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  69 

is  in  them  distressing  and  unpleasant.  I  see  at  once  all  that  I 
lose, — the  great,  the  lasting  sacrifices  that  I  make.  My  com- 
pensation is  to  be  that  state  of  tranquillity  and  security  which 
it  requires  time  and  leisure  to  enjoy  completely,  and  the  opera- 
tion of  which,  though  great  in  the  scale  of  life,  is  not  to  be  re- 
presented in  striking  colours.  All  that  remains  for  us  is,  to  make 
the  best  advantage  of  every  opportunity  of  happiness  that  lies  in 
our  way,  and  acquiesce  as  well  as  we  can  in  every  privation  and 
disappointment." 

That  every  sacrifice  of  lower  motives  of  action  to  higher, — of 
the  selfish  principle  to  the  social, — is  immediately  and  certainly 
rewarded  by  the  internal  emotions  of  the  individual,  and  in  most 
cases  by  the  concurring  sentiments  of  others,  is  the  great  truth 
which  cannot  be  too  often  repeated,  or  too  variously  illustrated ; 
and  it  will,  on  this  account,  be  useful,  as  well  as  satisfactory,  to 
contemplate  the  state  of  mind  exhibited  in  the  following  pas- 
sages of  a  letter  to  Dr.  Haygarth  : 

"  Your  very  kind  letter,  and  the  decided  approbation  you  be- 
stow on  my  late  removal,  give  me  peculiar  satisfaction.  Indeed, 
all  my  friends  unite  in  telling  me  I  have  determined  wisely,  ac- 
cording to  a  collected  view  of  all  the  circumstances  : — even  my 
friend  Mr.  B — y,  who,  with  yourself,  was  always  a  stimulator  of 
my  ambition,  is  compelled  to  the  same  conclusion. 

"  I  have  now  been  here  a  month,  and  find  my  situation,  with 
regard  to  the  respect  with  which  I  am  treated,  and  the  emolu- 
ments I  enjoy,  fully  equal  to  my  expectations.  I  also  feel  much 
pleasure  in  becoming  again  a  man  of  business,  filling  a  post  of 
some  use  and  consequence  in  society.  I  have  just,  purchased  a 
very  good  and  pleasant  house,  which  every  body  says  is  an  ex- 
tremely cheap  bargain.  My  wife  and  family  are  as  yet  in  town 
or  elsewhere,  and  I  am  in  lodgings.  But  I  hope  soon  to  re-com- 
mence that  domestic  life,  which,  to  persons  so  happy  in  their 
connections  as  you  and  I  are,  is  the  only  scene  of  real  felicity. 

"  I  lately  made  an  augmentation  of  my  medical  library,  at  a 
cheap  rate,  at  a  sale.  Sauvages,  Lieutaud,and  some  other  good 
books,  are  among  them ;  and  I  frequently  consult  them  by  way 
of  comparing  what  I  meet  with  in  practice,  with  description.  I 
keep  a  case  book,  upon  the  plan  of  yours,  and  find  it  very  use- 
ful and  improving.  I  have  already  entered  above  a  score  all  in 
Latin. 

"  Mr.  Howard  is  now  in  Italy,  from  whence  he  means  to  go  to 


70  MEMOIR  OF 

Sicily,  and  thence  to  Constantinople.     If  he  escapes  the  plague 
or  a  prison,  I  shall  think  him  indeed  heaven  protected. 

"I  recollect  nothing  else  at  present  to  communicate  ;  yet  if 
we  could  have  a  Frodsham  meeting  again,  how  much  should  we 
both  find  to  say  !  But  peace,  ye  vain  regrets,— let.  me  not  dwell 
upon  things  that  were,  and  *  were  most  dear  to  me  !'  " 

Another  letter,  written  to  the  same  friend  some  months  after- 
wards, preserves  a  similar  tone  of  habitual  contentedness,  and 
also  affords  some  interesting  notices  of  the  pursuits  and  senti- 
ments of  the  writer. 

"  How  many  things  have  I  to  say  to  you,  which  cannot  come 
within  the  compass  of  a  letter  !  O  Frodsham,  Frodsham  !  but  re- 
gret is  vain,  and  even  unreasonable,  when,  having  had  before  us 
the  advantages  and  disadvantages  of  various  situations,  we  have 
made  our  choice,  and  have  reason,  on  the  whole,  to  be  satisfied 
with  it.  I  am  now,  as  I  think,  perfectly  settled ;  and  though  I 
have  little  reason  to  think  either  that  my  gains  will  be  large,  or 
my  reputation  extended,  I  know  not  where,  upon  the  whole,  I 
could  be  better.  My  London  expedition  is  like  a  strange  dream 
to  my  mind,  and  in  a  few  years  1  shall  scarcely  be  able  to  con- 
sider  it  as  a  reality.  I  should  now  and  then  feel  a  little  disap- 
pointment at  the  loss  of  the  brilliant  aixl  lively  prospects  it  af- 
forded, did  I  not  immediately  call  to  mind  the  circumstances  of 
midwifery,  rival  ship, — intrigue,-— meanness, — hazard, — and  fa- 
mily sickness,  which  must  have  accompanied  them  ;  and  then  I 
perfectly  acquiesce  in  the  change.  I  now  live  in  a  good  house 
of  my  own,  with  a  cheerful  family  about  me,  amidst  agreeable 
acquaintance,  in  a  respectable  rank  of  life  ;  and  want  nothing 
but  a  little  more  business,  both  by  way  of  employment,  and  for 
profit.  But  I  can  keep  my  head  above  wal  or ;  and  perhaps  in 
time  my  fame  may  extend  to  a  dozen  miles'  distance  ;  and  then 
T  shall  bo  some  body  .in  the  world.  To  speak  without  jesting,  I 
.have  a  tolerable  range  southwards  in  Suffolk,  and  have  already 
been  called  in  by  all  the  ,surgeons  of  Beccles,  a  good  market 
.town  fourteen  miles  off. 

"You  ask  me  what  I  aw  a  the  literary  way.     Truly, 

subinjr  myself,  ami  11  I  intend  doing  here- 

:  lor  really  one  has  such  a  terrible  line  of  critics  to  run  the 
gauntlet  through,  that  I  shall  scarcely  have  courage  again  to  face 
them.  I  employ  some  of  my  leisure  in  practising  to  write  medi- 
cal Latin,  for  no  other  particular  purpose  than  that  of  keeping 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  71 

my  cases  with  some  elegance.  My  way  is,  to  translate  pretty 
literally  a  page  or  two  of  Celsus,  or  some  other  good  writer,  and 
the  next  day  render  it  back  into  Latin  and  compare  the  two.  I 
now  and  then  scribble  a  few  verses,  and  always  have  some  enter- 
taining book  in  reading,  which  prevents  time  from  hanging  heavy 
upon  my  hands.  As  for  philosophy,  chemistry,  and  the  other 
studies  which  require  close  attention  and  much  application,  t 
think  in  my  present  situation  I  do  most  wisely  in  letting  them, 
slip  by.  What  are  they  now  to  me,  further  than  an  amusement? 
and  I  own  I  find  little  amusement  in  them.  The  musse  elegan- 
tiores  were  always  more  to  my  taste. 

"  But  ipse  quid  audes  ?  You  say  nothing  of  your  own  pursuits, 
nor  in  what  way  you  are  now  consulting  the  public  good  ;  for  as 
every  man  has  his  amusement,  that  was  always  yours.  Do  you 
keep  the  small  pox  at  bay  yet  ?  Do  you  defy  infectious  fevers  ? 
Are  all  the  youth  of  Chester  instructed  and  humanised  under 
your  plans  ?  What  are  your  favourite  books  ?  Have  you  read 
Cowper's  Task  ?  If  you  have,  you  will  join  with  him  in  saying 
'  England,  with  all  thy  faults  I  love  thee  still,  my  country !'  The 
ardour  of  his  soul  will  in  some  degree  correspond  with  yours, 
and  I  doubt  not  that  you  will  be  struck  with  his  poetic  beauties, 
which  I  think  in  some  respects  almost  unequalled.  Yes,  I  do 
think  upon  the  whole  ours  a  very  tolerable  country,  nor  would  I 
quit  it  even  to  be  a  Dutch  or  American  republican. 

"  With  respect  to  my  friends  the  Dutch,  I  own  I  admire  their 
spirit,  and  augur  well  as  to  the  issue  of  the  patriotic  cause.  Why 
need  a  republic  tie  themselves  to  the  control  of  hereditary  fools, 
contrary  to  the  fundamental  principles  of  their  state  ?  There 
will  be  no  civil  war,  I  dare  say  ;  and  foreign  powers  will  prevent 
each  other  from  hurting  them.  You  have  guessed  whence  the 
account  of  the  Dutch  visit  to  this  place  proceeded.  I  believe  I 
shall  frequently  send  a  trifle  to  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  and 
since  that,  have  inserted  there  an  account  of  our  maritime  plants, 
and  an  Apology  for  Literary  Physicians." 

Various  were  the  resources  which  occurred  to  Dr.  Aikin  for 
filling  up  his  intervals  of  leisure  during  the  year  1787.  At  the 
earnest  request  of  his  friend  Dr.  Percival,  he  received  his  eldest 
son  into  his  house,  for  the  purpose  of  initiation  in  medical  stu- 
dies, and  this  connection  subsisted  with  mutual  satisfaction  for 
more  than  a  year;  though  the  preference  of  the  pupil  for  the 
clerical  profession,  proved  in  the  end  insuperable.  Another 


72  MEMOIR  OF 

source  of  employment  was  supplied  to  him  by  the  return  of  Mr. 
Howard  from  the  long  and  perilous  journey  referred  to  in  a  pre- 
vious extract.  Previously  to  his  departure,  this  gentleman  had 
been  furnished  at  his  own  request,  by  Dr.  Jebb  and  my  father, 
v.'ith  a  set  of  queries  relative  to  the  plague,  to  be  addressed  to 
the  medical  practitioners  of  such  ports  of  the  Levant  as  he  pro- 
posed to  visit :  and  on  his  return,  he  put  the  answers  to  these 
queries,  with  such  other  documonts  respecting  this  dreadful 
malady  as  he  had  been  able  to  procure,  into  the  hands  of  my 
father,  who  compiled  from  them  all  the  medical  part  ot  Mr. 
Howard's  work  on  Lazarettos.  Several  of  these  documents  were 
in  Italian  ;  and  it  was  for  the  purpose  of  understanding  them  that 
he  taught  himself  that  language  ;  the  poets,  historians  and  bio- 
graphers of  which  afterwards  proved  to  him  an  invaluable  source 
of  instruction  and  delight.  Some  of  his  earliest  impressions 
respecting  the  Italian  poets  are  thus  communicated  to  Mrs. 
Sarbauld. 

" .  .  .  .  You  may  imagine  that  amid  all  these  engagements, 
Italian  has  not  been  much  pursued.  I  have  however  read  through 
the  Aminta  ;  and  with  more  pleasure  than  I  could  have  supposed 
an  idle  love  tale  could  now  have  given  me.  There  are,  indeed, 
some  charming  passages,  and  I  could  easily  trace  some  of  our 
most  admired  poets  as  imitators  of  this  original.  Did  you  never 
feel  the  pleasure  one  experiences  in  meeting  with  a  passage  in 
its  right  place  already  familiar  to  tis  in  quotation  ?  I  felt  this 
highly  on  finding  in  the  Aminta  those  beautiful  lines  quoted  in 
Jie  Nouvelle  Heloise,  "  Congiunti  eran  1'alberghi,"  &c.  I  have 
also  read  the  Siroe  of  Metastasio,  the  plot  of  which  is,  to  be 
sure,  gloriously  absurd.  His  lovers  are  so  pitifully  tame  and 

unble,  and  his  heroines  such  insolent  viragoes,  that  I  feel  very 
jttle  interest  in  their  affairs." 

During  the  year  1788,  he  was  employed  in  the  composition  of 
his  popular  little  work,  England  Delineated.  He  described  it  to 
be  his  intention  here  "  to  sketch  a  bold  and  strong  outline,  where- 
by the  discriminating  character  of  each  county  may  be  impress- 
ed on  the  mind  ;"  and  I  may  be  permitted  to  remark,  that  there 
were  few  things  in  which  his  peculiar  talent  shone  more  than  in 
this  kind  of  spirited  sketching.  The  uncommon  clearness  both 
of  his  ideas  and  his  style,  enabled  him,  with  a  few  strokes,  to  con- 
vey images  at  once  distinct  and  lively  ;  and  his  works  for  young 
people  abound  with  these  bird's-eye  views  of  various  departments 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  73 

of  knowledge,  which  he  thought  it  advantageous  early  to  spread 
before  the.n,  that  they  might  be  enabled  immediately  to  arrange, 
with  an  approach  it  least  to  accuracy,  such  ideas  of  detail  as  they 
should  afterwards  accumulate.  Few  of  his  works  were  execut- 
ed with  more  pleasure  to  himself  than  this :  geographical  and 
topographical  pursuits  were  always  congenial  to  his  taste  ;  in  its 
least  attractive  forms,  knowledge  of  this  kind  was  welcome  to  his 
mind,  and  when  embellished  by  the  charms  of  eloquence  and 
poetry,  a  source  of  high  delight.  I  have  often  witnessed  the  ad- 
miration with  which  he  perused  the  description  of  the  site  of 
Constantinople,  and  the  other  geographical  delineations  traced 
by  the  masterly  hand  of  Gibbon  ;  and  the  enthusiasm  with  which 
he  dwelt  upon  the  splendid  panoramas  of  the  ancient  world  ex- 
hibited by  Milton  in  his  Paradise  Lost,  and  Paradise  Regained.* 
Another  occupation  of  the  leisure  of  this  year,  but  rather  of  a 
professional  than  literary  nature,  was  the  preparation  of  another 
new  edition  of  Lewis's  Materia  Medica,  with  all  the  alterations 
of  the  last  London  Pharmacopoeia,  and  two  or  three  new  articles. 
He  was  likewise  engaged  in  initiating  in  the  elements  of  medi- 
cine, the  second  son  of  Dr.  Percival,  who  had  taken  his  brother's 
place  under  his  tuition,  and  entered  upon  professional  studies 
with  such  ardour  and  success  as  to  excite  high  hopes  of  future 
eminence,  which  were  unhappily  frustrated  by  an  untimely  death. 
About  the  same  time,  various  circumstances  conspired  to  lead 
him  on  in  a  train  of  thought,  which  afterwards  broke  forth  in  such 
a  variety  of  forms  in  his  writings,  and  influenced  his  conduct  in 
so  many  important  particulars,  that  it  will  be  proper  to  trace  its 
origin  and  progress.  He  had  early  learned  from  the  precepts 
and  example,  doubtless,  of  his  excellent  father,  to  regard 
the  different  degrees  of  moral  worth  and  intellectual  profi- 
ciency as  the  only  really  important  distinctions  among  man- 
kind. In  consequence  of  this  estimate  of  things,  no  man  was 
ever,  not  in  theory  alone,  but  in  practice,  less  of  a  respecter  of 


*  Besides  the  merit  of  the  plan  ami  general  execution,  England  Delineated  had 
that  of  bringing  before  the  public  a  very  considerable  quantity  of  new  and  accurate 
information  concerning  particular  towns  *nd  districts,  obtained  from  many  respect- 
able correspondents  to  whom  diligent  application  was  made  by  the  author.  This 
work  received  considerable  accessions  in  several  successive  editions;  and  anew  mo- 
dification of  the  workj  comprising  many  fresh  heads  of  informal  ion,  was  published  in 
one  closely  printed  octavo  volume,  under  the  title  of  England  Described  ;  Baldwin,, 
Cradock,  and  Joy,  1819. 
t\. 


T4  MEMOIR  OF 

persons  ;  for  while  he  disdained  to  pay  court  to  the  ignorant  and 
the  profligate,  whatever  their  rank  and  fortune,  or  their  ability 
to  promote  his  own  worldly  interests,  he  always  discovered  a 
benevolent  willingness  to  enter  into  conversation  with  persons 
in  (he  humblest  stations,  if  possessed  of  decent  manners,  and  of 
the  disposition  to  seek,  or  the  power  to  communicate,  useful 
knowledge,  of  whatever  kind.  As  a  medical  man,  his  intercourse 
with  the  lower  classes  was  constant  and  extensive  ; — for  his  gra- 
tuitous assistance  was  always  at  their  free  disposal, — and  in  the 
situations  in  which  he  saw  them,  he  often  found  himself  called 
upon  to  pay  homage  to  their  social  and  domestic  virtues,  while 
he  compassionated  their  sufferings  and  deplored  their  hardships. 
The  combined  result,  then,  of  his  principles  and  his  experience 
was,  a  remarkable  degree  of fellow  feeling  with  the  poor,  a  desire 
to  raise  them  in  their  own  estimation  and  that  of  others  to  what 
he  regarded  as  their  due  level,  and  a  fixed  opinion  that  the  ex- 
treme inequality  of  conditions  was  both  an  evil  and  an  injustice 
of  the  greatest  magnitude,  and  one  which  it  was  the  duty  of  a 
government  calling  itself  free  and  enlightened,  to  take  measures 
for  lessening.  The  state  of  the  poor  in  Norfolk  at  the  period  of 
his  removal  thither,  was  peculiarly  calculated  to  give  force  to 
these  ideas.  A  long  and  progressive  diminution  of  demand  for 
the  woollen  fabrics  of  Norwich,  had  gradually  impoverished  the 
labouring  classes  throughout  a  considerable  district;  and  the 
alarming  increase  of  poor's-rates  consequent  upon  their  inability 
to  find  regular  employment,  had  suggested  various  plans  for  the 
cheaper  maintenance  of  persons  who  had  become  chargeable  to 
their  parish.  Among  these  was  the  erection  of  houses  of  indus- 
try, two  or  three  of  which  had  been  established  on  what  was 
regarded  as  an  improved  plan,  and  were  zealously  patronised 
by  the  county  magistrates.  A  visit  to  one  of  these,  made  under 
the  conduct  of  a  zealous  friend  and  advocate  of  the  design,  had 
the  unexpected  effect  of  suggesting  to  Dr.  Aikin  the  following 
remarks,  which  first  appeared  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  for 
January,  1788,  and  afterwards  received  the  distinction,  highly 
valued  by  their  author,  of  being  re-printed  by  Mr.  Howard,  at  his 
own  expense,  in  a  separate  form  for  general  circulation  : 

"  At  a  time  when  so  many  new  schemes  are  in  agitation  for 
the  better  management  of  the  poor,  while  objections  are  raised 
aji.Vr.ist  them  all,  and  yet  all  acknowledge  that  some  alterations 
and  improvements  are  necessary,  I  beg  to  be  indulged  with  the 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  75 

insertion  of  a  few  observations  on  two  points  which  ought  to  be 
considered  previously  to  the  establishment  of  any  new  mode, 
and  a  proper  attention  to  which  might  decide  the  preference  due 
to  one  above  another.  These  points  are,  the  RIGHTS  OF  THE 
POOR,  and  the  COMFORTS  OF  THE  POOR. 

"  With  respect  to  the  Poor  Man's  RIGHTS,  I  presume  they  are 
naturally  the  same  with  the  rich  man's.  Set  the  prince  and  the 
basket  maker  together  upon  a  desolate  island,  and  it  is  certain 
the  birth  of  the  former  will  not  be  so  good  a  plea  for  superiority 
as  the  skill  of  the  latter.  But  in  a  state  of  society,  the  rights  of 
the  poor  man  must  be  estimated  by  the  sacrifices  he  has  made 
(or  has  acquiesced  in)  for  the  benefit  of  that  society.  Now  these 
are  great  indeed.  He  has  resigned  to  the  landlord  all  his  share 
of  the  ground  which  his  own  hands  cultivate ;  not  reserving  to 
himself  so  much  as  will  bury  him.  He  has  lent  to  the  merchant 
and  manufacturer  the  use  of  his  limbs,  as  an  engine  to  procure 
them  wealth,  at  a  rate  much  below  their  real  value.  He  has  re- 
linquished, to  those  who  are  called  his  betters,  all  claim  to  power, 
rank,  title,  and  respect,  and  is  content  to  swell  the  pomp  of 
state  by  the  contrast  he  exhibits  of  meanness  opposed  to  gran- 
deur; without  which  comparative  relation  neither  of  them  would 
exist.  What  then,  in  such  an  unequal  distribution,  is  left  him  ? 
Surely  the  security,  at  least,  that  his  condition  shall  not  become 
still  worse  (unless  by  his  own  fault) ;  and  that,  like  the  bee  which 
resigns  her  treasures  to  man,  he  may  remain  unmolested  in  his 
hive,  and  be  fed  with  a  portion  of  that  honey  which  he  collects 
for  his  masters.  If  this  be  denied  him,  will  he  not  be  apt  to  call 
for  a  fresh  division  of  the  common  property,  and  say,  "  Give  me 
the  portion  of  good  things  which  falleth  unto  me  ?"  Heavy  as  is  the 
burden  of  poor  rates,  1  suppose  the  opulent  do  not  wish  for  such 
a  liquidation  of  the  account.  I  conceive  it,  therefore,  to  be  the 
right  of  the  poor  man,  at  all  events,  and  notwithstanding  the  bur- 
dens which  may  seem  to  press  upon  the  rich,  to  be  secured  in 
the  continuance  of  the  humble  enjoyments  belonging  to  his  sta- 
tion A  willingness  to  labour  is  all  the  return  that  can  be  re- 
quired of  him.  If,  either  by  age  or  sickness,  he  is  rendered  in- 
capable of  labour,  or  if  no  work  can  be  found  for  him,  he  may 
still  demand  his  usual  scanty  share  from  those,  who,  without 
labouring  any  more  than  he,  are  supplied  with  abundance  out  of 
the  general  stock.  It  is  not  enough,  then,  to  provide  for  the  poor, 
by  keeping  their  souls  and  bodies  together  in  the  cheapest  manner 


76  MEMOIR  OF 

possible;  they  are  to  be  maintained  in  the  possession  of  their 
comforts. 

"What  are  the  poor  man's  COMFORTS  ?  They  lie  in  a  small 
compass ;  and  therefore  ought  to  be  the  more  sacred. 

"One  great  source  of  comfort  to  the  poor  man  is  his  wife  and 
children,  if  he  be  not  overburdened  by  them.  Despised  and  in- 
significant as  he  may  be  abroad,  he  is  of  some  consequence  at 
home.  He  finds  there  those  who  care  for  him,  who  obey  him; 
to  whom  he  may  say,  Go,  and  they  go  ;  and  Come,  and  they  come. 
He  is  not  without  a  sense  of  the  charities  of  father,  son,  and  hus- 
band ;  and,  when  sick  and  dispirited,  it  is  the  greatest  of  his  com- 
forts to  be  attended  upon  by  those  who  love  and  regard  him. 
There  may  be  some  danger  of  sinking  even  a  stout  heart  by  the 
forcible  separation  of  husband  and  wife,  parents  and  children,  in 
times  of  sickness  and  distress ;  nor  would  one  surely  wish  them 
to  be  entirely  indifferent  to  each  other. 

"The  poor  man,  poor  as  he  is,  loves  to  cherish  some  idea  of 
property  ;— to  say,  my  house,  my  garden,  my  furniture  ;  and  when 
his  whole  domestic  establishment  goes  to  wreck  on  a  removal  to 
a  workhouse,  he  is  weak  enough  to  grieve  a  little  at  the  loss  of 
things  that  by  use  were  become  precious  to  him.  He  does  not 
like  to  consider  himself  only  as  a  lodger  or  a  guest,  though  in  a 
much  finer  mansion  than  his  own  ; — he  does  not  wear  with  satis- 
faction clothes,  though  warm,  that  belong  to  the  community,  and 
not  to  himself.  And  are  not  these  respectable  prejudices? 

"The  poor  man  is  comforted  under  his  poverty  by  thinking 
himself/ree.  This  freedom  of  his,  God  knows,  is  circumscribed 
by  such  a  number  of  imperious  necessities,  that  it  is  reduced  to 
little  in  effect;  but  he  pleases  himself  in  imagining  that  he  pos- 
sesses it ;  and  that  he  may  go  out  or  come  in,  work  or  play,  at 
his  own  option.  He  likes  to  be  the  judge  of  his  own  wants,  and 
to  provide  for  them  after  his  own  manner.  He  even  chooses  to 
have  the  determination  whether  he  shall  boil  or  bake  his  Sunday's 
dinner.  Then  he  cannot  be  easy  under  confinement,  abhors  the 
thought  of  being  under  lock  and  key,  and  thinks  no  man  deserves 
a  prison  who  has  not  committed  a  crime.  To  be  a  cypher  in 
the  state,  and  therefore  a  slave,  according  to  the  idea  of  some 
political  theorists,  does  not  hurt  him  at  all ;  but  he  has  a  mortal 
dislike  to  arbitrary  rule  exercised  over  all  his  actions.  And  is 
it  in  Kngland  that  one  would  wish  to  extinguish  these  feelings  ! 

"  Lastly,  the  poor  man  places  some  of  his  comfort  (often,  it 


DR.  JOHN  A1KIN. 

must  be  acknowledged,  too  much  of  it)  in  soczWand  convivial  en- 
joyments. The  bare  mention  of  these,  in  a  poor  man,  strikes 
many  with  the  idea  of  great  criminalty,  and  the  appellations  of 
drunken  and  idle  are  liberally  bestowed  with  great  indignation, 
To  get  drunk,  and  squander  at  an  ale-house  what  ought  to  main- 
tain his  family,  is  undoubtedly  very  wrong  in  a  poor  man  ;  but 
that,  after  a  hard  day's  or  week's  labour,  he  should  love  to  relax 
a  little  in  that  place  which  affords  "an  hour's  importance  to  the 
poor  man's  heart,1'  is  surely  so  natural  that  it  cannot  deserve 
much  censure.  The  evening  chat  at  a  neighbour's  door,  the 
Sunday's  church  yard  politics,  the  holiday  festivities,  the  rustic 
games,  and  athletic  exercises,  are  as  welcome  to  the  labourer,  as 
the  Opera-house  and  Almack's  to  the  lord ;  and  who  will  say, 
that  the  pleasures  of  the  former  are  not  as  well  earned  as  those 
of  the  latter  ?  Without  these  sweeteners,  what  would  be  the  bit- 
ter cup  of  a  poor  man's  life  !  What  is  the  life  of  him  who  is 
compelled  to  sustain  a  tasteless  and  melancholy  being  within  the 
barred  precincts  of  a  workhouse,  where  the  names  of  freedom, 
property,  and  cheerfulness,  are  unknown  ?" 

Similar  views  are  further  opened  in  a  letter  addressed  to  a 
medical  friend,  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  year. 

"The  state  of  the  poor  has  indeed  considerably  occupied  my 
thoughts,  and  I  heartily  wish  their  situation  was  bettered,  not 
only  by  the  exertions  of  private  charity,  but  by  a  spirit  of  justice* 
and  a  due  sense  of  the  natural  equality  of  mankind.  Their  state 
is,  indeed,  so  bad  in  many  respects,  that  considering  they  form 
the  great  bulk  of  the  community,  it  ought,  I  think,  to  diminish 
our  boasts  of  a  perfect  form  of  constitution,  and  incite  us  to 
some  extensive  and  effectual  reform.  As  I  have  no  idea  of  the 
valu£  of  human  life,  independent  of  its  happiness,  I  am  ready  to 
acknowledge  that  the  preservation  of  the  lives  of  die  infant  poor 
is  not,  of  itself,  any  great  object  with  me;  and  I  am  convinced 
that  till  they  are  themselves  interested  in  the  safety  of  their  chil- 
dren, no  public  institution  for  preventing  the  spread  of  the  small 
pox  or  other  contagious  diseases  among  them  will  avail.  I  al- 
ways thought  it  a  kind  of  solecism  to  pay  people  for  taking  care 
of  their  nun  children  ;  and  in  the  present  state  of  things  I  think 
it  quite  enough  to  offer  them  gratuitously  the  best  means  of  pre- 
servation. It  hurts  me  to  have  the  poor  treated  as  absolutely 
irrational  animals.  Give  them  rights  and  comforts, — make  life 


78  MEMOIR  OF 

an  object  of  desire  to  them, — and  then  they  will  take  care  ot 
themselves," 

The  bearing  of  these  sentiments  on  his  political  ideas  is  made 
evident  by  a  subsequent  passage  in  the  same  letter. 

"  I  did  not  expect  my  political  ode*  would  altogether  please 
you ;  but  I  value  the  frankness  with  which  you  tell  me  it  does 
not.  I  cannot,  however,  allow  that  its  sentiments  go  to  the  de- 
struction of  our  constitution,  which  surely,  inasmuch  as  it  is  a 
free  one,  comes  under  my  definition  of  a  commonwealth,  viz.  one 
in  which  the  basis  of  the  legislative  power  is  laid  in  the  body  of 
the  people.  I  only  wish  strongly  to  inculcate  this  leading  idea, 
the  fair  conclusion  from  which  I  take  to  be,  that  the  popular  part 
of  our  constitution  is  the  only  essential  part,  and  that  the  rest 
is  valuable  solely  as  it  secures  the  safe  and  temperate  exercise 
of  this.  To  this  state  of  political  opinion,  I  have  been  gradually 
led  by  following,  as  fairly  as  I  was  able,  and  in  opposition  to 
former  prejudices,  a  few  simple  principles ;  and  nothing  but  a 
train  of  still  more  conclusive  reasoning  will  probably  induce  me 
to  change.  It  is,  however,  one  of  those  subjects  on  which  I  can 
very  well  agree  to  differ  with  my  friends." 

It  was  in  this  state  of  his  feelings,  that  the  French  revolution 
broke  upon  the  world  ;  and  it  will  not  appear  wonderful  that  he 
should  have  been  found  in  the  number  of  its  warm  admirers, 
when  it  is  recollected  that  its  commencements  were  universally 
hailed  by  the  friends  of  popular  rights,  in  this  and  other  countries, 
as  the  auspicious  dawn  of  a  new  era  of  light  and  happiness. 

But,  it  is  well  known  that,  even  from  the  beginning,  long  be- 
fore its  progress  was  stained  with  blood  and  horrors,  this  great 
event  was  viewed  with  extreme  jealousy  by  a  majority  of  the 
higher  classes  in  England,  and  especially  by  the  established  cler- 
gy ;  and  that  in  most  of  our  commercial  towns,  which  have  al- 
ways been  the  strong  holds  of  the  protestant  dissenters,  and  in 
corporate  towns  especially,  the  aristocratic  and  democratic  par- 
ties, as  they  were  then  called,  nearly  coincided  with  the  dis- 
tinction of  churchmen  and  dissenters.  This  division  was  ren- 
dered more  exact,  and  the  feelings  which  attended  it  doubly 
acrimonious,  by  the  proceedings  relative  to  the  repeal  of  the  cor- 
poration and  test  acts,  which  happened  to  coincide  in  time  with 


*  Ode  to  the  Ck'nius  of  a  Commonwealth,  afterwards  published  among  his  Poems. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  79 

the  promulgation  of  the  new  constitution  of  France.  When,  in 
March,  1790,  the  dissenters  found  the  abolition  of  this  invidious 
law,  which  had  nearly  been  carried  in  a  former  session,  finally 
rejected  by  the  votes  of  an  overwhelming  majority  of  the  House 
of  Commons,  they  were  stung  with  a  keen  sense  of  the  injustice 
of  their  country ;  and  the  best  pens  among  them  were  sharpened 
for  an  appeal  to  public  opinion, — the  only  resource  which  was 
left  them.  Bound  to  the  dissenters  by  the  ties  of  birth,  connec- 
tions, and  personal  obligations,  Dr.  Aikin  did  not  hesitate  on 
this  occasion  to  stand  forth  as  their  champion;  and  two  strongly 
written  pamphlets  attested  his  zeal  in  the  cause*  These  pieces 
were  published  anonymously,  but  without  any  precautions  for 
the  concealment  of  the  writer  from  the  inquiries  of  either  friends 
or  foes. 

In  those  days  of  party  violence,  no  one  whose  situation  was  in 
any  respect  a  dependent  one,  was  permitted  to  take  the  weaker 
side  with  impunity;  nor  was  it  long  before  Dr.  Aikin  was  made 
to  bear  the  penalty  of  his  conscientious  and  disinterested  efforts. 
Of  the  clergy  resident  in  and  near  Yarmouth,  whose  literary  ac- 
quirements and  polished  manners  had  hitherto  rendered  them 
his  most  congenial  and  agreeable  associates,  one  alone  had  the 
courage  and  the  liberality  to  stand  by  him  without  wavering  in 
this  season  of  trial.  The  members  of  the  corporation  and  the  high 
party  generally,  though  not  without  some  honourable  exceptions, 
were  pleased  to  consider  themselves  as  absolved,  by  circum- 
stances., from  the  engagement  to  support  him,  into  which  they  had 
voluntarily  entered  on  his  coining  to  Yarmouth  ;  and  after  stu- 
dying to  make  him  feel  in  various  modes  the  weight  of  their  dis- 
pleasure, they  entered  into  secret  machinations  for  inviting  ano- 
ther physician  to  take  up  his  abode  among  them. 

Meanwhile  he  continued  to  bear  his  head  erect,  as  a  man  con- 
scious of  none  but  worthy  motives,  and  prepared  to  stand  to  the 
consequences  of  his  actions  without  shrinking; — but  his  natural 
disposition  was  so  averse  to  turbulence  and  strife,  that  he  could 
not  see  himself  engaged,  however  innocently,  in  a  conflict  of  this 
nature,  without  experiencing  the  most  uneasy  emotions  ;  and  he 
privately  resolved,  if  the  storm  did  not  soon  blow  over,  to  yield 
to  its  fury  and  fly  to  the  shelter  of  some  friendly  port. 

The  following  poetical  epistle,  addressed  to  one  of  the  dearest 
of  his  friends,  expresses  with  great  truth  and  feeling  the  fluctua- 


80  MEMOIR  OF 

lions  of  his  mind  at  this  period,  on  contemplating  the  doubtful 
futurity  which  lay  before  him: 

EPISTLE  TO  THE  REV.  W.  ENFIELD,  L.  L.  D. 

ON  PERUSING  IN  MANUSCRIPT  HIS  ABRIDGEMENT  OF  BRUCKER?S 
HISTORY  OF  PHILOSOPHY. 

Despicere  wide  qiiens  alias,  patsimque  vidcre 
Errare  atque  viain  palantes  queerer e  vit<e. — LUCRET. 

"•  O  Friend,  to  whose  clear  sight  the  mystic  roll 
Of  wisdom  lies  display'd,  where  spreading  wide 
From  India's,  Egypt's,  or  Chaldea's  root, 
Thro'  fertile  Grecian  branches,  to  the  boughs 
And  twigs  innnmerous  of,a  later  growth, 
The  Tree  of  Knowledge  stands,  opake  and  full, 
(I  ween,  not  fruitless,  like  the  shady  elm 
Of  Orcus,  where  each  leaf  conceal'd  a  dream,) 
Suspend  thy  toil  severe,  and  deign  awhile 
On  me,  thy  old  companion,  long  belov'd, 
Much  favour'd,  to  bestow  the  precious  boon 
Of  open  converse,  such  as  friendship  loves 
And  freedom  dictates.     Many  a  school-drawn  knot 
Tough  web  of  sophistry,  and  tangled  skein 
Of  meti. physic,  by  thy  skilful  hand 
I  see  unravelPd,  and  with  thee  can  soar, 
Borne  by  the  puffy,  gas-inflated  ball 
Of  speculation,  to  those  fields  of  air 
Where  elements  are  bred  and  system's  nurs'd. 
But,  for  such  subtle  regions  all  too  gross, 
I  gravitate  to  earth,  and  rather  love 
By  clear  Ilissus,  or  the  shady  groves 
Of  Tusculum,  orTibur's  still  retreats, 
To  court  the  placid  power  of  moral  truth. 
Come,  then,  my  friend,  whose  pure  benignant  breast 
Is  wisdom's  best  interpreter,  O  come, 
And  teach  me  how  to  five;  for,  sure,  'tis  time, 
When  from  the  traveller's  gaze  the  westering  sun 
Posts  down  the  sky,  'tis  time  his  course  were  fix'd. 

"  What,  then,  is  man's  chief  bliss?— to  lift  the  soul, 
By  lonely  contemplation,  to  the  source 
Of  good  and  fair,  with  Reason's  essence  pure 
To  feed  the  thought;  and  on  the  trivial  scene 
Of  sublunary  things  look  down  unmnv'd, 
Si-lf-lionour'd,  self-dependent — or  to  call 
Each  potent  energy  to  active  use, 
And  urge  the  flying  moments  with  the  weight 
Of  strong  exertion,  pressing  ardent  on 
To  some  bright  point  of  distance, — or  to  steal 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  81 

With  loitering  foot  along  the  vale  obscure, 

And  pluck  gay  flowers,  and  dally  with  the  time 

In  careless  sport,  and  song,  and  converse  sweet, 

Delightful  interchange  ! — or,  plodding  on, 

With  rule  in  hand,  with  grave  and  measur'd  step, 

To  pace  the  level,  line-drawn  avenue, 

Where  business,  meals,  and  sleep,  in  order  due, 

Like  shrubs  and  statues  in  a  Dutchman's  walk, 

Succeed  unvaried  ?     Say,  in  which  of  these, 

The  paths  of  human  life,  her  fairy  tread 

Has  Happiness  imprinted  ?     Shall  we  try, 

By  beating  wide  the  ground,  to  catch  a  glimpse 

Of  the  still-flying  phantom  ;  or  pursue 

With  heedful  diligence  one  chosen  track? 

For  me,  whom  Fate  has  destin'd  to  the  round 

Of  sober  business,  and  as  sober  joys ; 

Whose  roving  wing  is  dipt ;  whose  eager  eye, 

Agaze  for  distant  wonders,  must  contract 

Its  narrowed  focus  to  a  map  and  book ; 

Who,  for  the  vivid  flash  of  living  wit 

And  voice-clad  eloquence,  must  court  the  beams 

That  shine  in  faint  reflection  from  the  page; 

How  shall  I  best  preserve  the  genial  flame 

Alive  within  my  breast?   How  trim  the  lamp 

And  clear  from  gathering  dregs  and  vapours  dim  ? 

Soon,  soon,  the  brief  delights  ot  sense  must  fail  j 

And  buoyant  spirits,  from  the  rapid  tide  .> 

Of  youthful  blood  evolv'd,  wax  tame  and  dull. 

What  then  shall  save  me  from  the  palsying  grasp 

Of  cold  Indifference,  leagued  with  sick  Disgust, 

Slack  Listlessness,  and  sullen  Melancholy ! 

Terrific  group  !  Will  poring  o'er  the  leaves 

Of  sage  Philosophy,  with  elbow  chair, 

Fire  side,  and  winking  taper,  chase  away 

These  black  intruders  ?    Ah  !  too  well  I  know, 

Already  know,  how  hang  the  heavy  hours 

Of  studious  indolence  that  only  seeks 

In  thoughts  of  other  men  to  lose  its  own. 

Then  shall  I  seize  the  quill  ?  screw  high  each  chord 

That  vibrates  in  the  brain ;  dilate  the  breast 

With  mighty  heavings ;  rouse  the  throbbing  heart 

With  keen  emotions  ;  touch  with  noblr  fire, 

And  pour  the  glowing  torrrent  on  the  page  ? 

Or,  arm'd  with  patient  industry,  lead  on 

To  slow  maturity  some  fair  design, 

The  child  of  use  and  knowledge,  which  may  stand 

A  moii'iment  for  ages  ?  such  as  thine. 

Where  learning,  sense,  and  lucid  order,  clad 

In  clear  expression,  frame  a  perfect  whole. 

Or  rath-  r,  pens  and  books  thrown  far  aside, 

Relume  Ambition's  fire,  with  desperate  plunge 

Rush  in  the  crowd,  and  elbowing  on  my  way 


X2  MEMOIR  OF 

Thro'  friends,  thro'  foes,  and  fierce  Contention's  du. 
Catch  at  some  gilded  prize,  some  meteor  gay, 
And,  having  touch'd  it — drop ! 

"Thus  void  of  certain  aim,  not  straying  wideP 
Perpl^x'd,  not  lost,  I  take  my  dubious  way. 
And  wilt  not  thou  a  friendly  arm  extend 
To  point  my  footsteps,  and  with  cheering  voice 
Exhort  to  steadfast  march  and  hold  advance  ? 
Long,  in  the  prime  of  manhood,  side  by  side 
We  ran,  and  joy'd  to  give  the  mutual  hand 
In  paths  obscure  and  rugged  : — sever'd  now 
I  miss  the  dear  companion  of  my  road, 
And  wander  lonely.     Yet,  what  Fate  allows, 
Let  me  noc  want; — the  frequent  words  of  love, 
The  prudent  counsel,  admonition  kind, 
And  all  the  freeoVfiowings  of  the  soul, 
In  letter'd  intercourse; — and,  sometimes,  too, 
More  valu'd,  as  more  rare,  the  Friend  entire. 

Next  to  the  endearments  of  domestic  affection,  which  my  fa- 
ther ever  regarded  as  the  best  sweeteners  of  human  life,  he  con- 
tinued to  prize  the  resources  offered  by  letters;  and  in  the  midst 
of  troubles  and  anxieties  which  would  have  left  the  majority  of 
men  but  few  spare  thoughts  at  their  disposal,  he  found  in  him- 
self energy  to  plan  and  execute  for  the  public  more  than  one 
literary  labour.  The  first  of  these,  indeed,  sprung  from  an  im- 
perious sense  of  duty  towards  the  memory  of  a  man  whom  he 
revered  perhaps  beyond  all  others.  In  the  summer  of  1789,  al- 
most immediately  after  the  completion  of  the  work  on  Lazaret- 
tos, in  the  composition  of  which  Dr.  Aikin  has  assisted  him,  the 
excellent  Mr.  Howard,  whose  sense  of  public  duty  was  not  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  inconveniences,  toils,  and  perils  which  he  had 
already  confronted  in  the  cause  of  humanity,  set  out  on  a  new 
mission,  which  he  proposed  to  render  longer  than  any  of  his 
previous  ohes;for  besides  re-visiting  Turkey,  Russia,  and  some 
other  countries,  it  was  his  intention  to  extend  his  tour  into  the 
East.  He  passed  through  Holland  and  the  north  of  Germany  to 
Petersburgh,  thence  to  Moscow,  and  thence,  to  Cherson  in  the 
Crimea,  where  a  fever,  caught  in  the  exercise  of  some  of  his  acts 
of  benevolence,  terminated  his  high  career  on  January  20th, 
1790.  When  he  perceived  his  end  approaching,  Mr.  Howard 
delivered  his  memorandums  of  the  journey  in  which  he  was  then 
erjf;[iged  to  the  servant  who  attended  him,  with  a  written  request 
that  they  might  be  fitted  for  publication  by  Dr.  Price  and  Dr. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  83 

Aikin.  The  infirm  state  of  health  into  which  Dr.  Price  had 
fallen,  caused  the  task  to  devolve  wholly  on  my  father ;  who, 
after  he  obtained  possession  of  the  papers  from  the  executors, 
which  was  not  done  without  considerable  delay  and  difficulty, 
lost  no  time  in  preparing  from  them  a  narrative  which  was  print- 
ed as  an  appendix  to  the  work  on  Lazarettos. 

But  this  effort  was  far  from  fulfilling  his  earnest  desire  of  do- 
ing honour  and  justice  to  the  memory  of  so  revered  and  lament- 
ed a  friend,  and  so  distinguished  an  ornament  not  only  of  his 
age  and  country,  but  of  human  nature  itself.  The  extraordinary 
exertions  of  Mr.  Howard  had  fixed  the  wonder  and  admiration 
of  all  the  countries  which  he  had  visited  in  the  performance  of 
his  beneficent  mission  ;  and  in  many  of  these  he  had  not  only  re- 
ceived from  the  highest  authorities  strong  testimonies  of  perso- 
nal respect  and  deference,  but,  what  he  valued  much  more,  his 
opinions  had  been  listened  to,  his  plans  and  suggestions  adopt- 
ed, and  extensive  benefit  had  resulted  to  the  unfortunate  objects 
of  his  care  and  protection.     At  home,  his  evidence  on  the  sub- 
ject of  prisons  had  been  heard  with  deep  attention  by  the  House 
of  Commons,  which  had  voted  him  its  thanks  for  his  philanthro- 
pic exertions,  and  passed  certain  acts  for  the  purpose  of  giving 
effect  to  his  plans  of  reform,  especially  one  for  the  erection  of 
penitentiary  houses,  under  the  inspection  of  three  supervisors, 
of  whom  he  was  named  the  first.     But  virtue  so  exalted  in  its 
quality,  so  singular  in  its  mode  of  operation,  and,  above  all,  so 
conspicuous  and  so  successful,  could  not  be  expected  to  escape 
the  open  hostility  of  selfishness  and  corruption,  the  covert  in- 
sinuations of  envy  and  detraction,  or  the  misrepresentations  of 
vulgar  credulity;  and  no  sooner  was  it  known  that  he  was  finally 
removed  from  the  scene,  than  a  thousand  absurd  or  malevolent 
reports  which  had  hitherto  circulated  in   conversation  alone, 
found  their  way  into  magazines  and  newspapers,  and  perplexed 
or  prejudiced  the  public  judgment.     It  was  important  to  rescue 
the  memory  of  such  a  man  from  injury  by  a  just  statement  of  his 
actions  and  motives  ;  and  with  respect  to  his  public  life  and  ser- 
vices, no  one  could  be  accounted  better  qualified  to  give  such 
a  statement,  than  one  who  had  been  selected  by  himself  to  assist 
in  the  composition  of  his  works,  and  had  enjoyed  during  many 
years  the  benefit  of  so  much  confidential  discourse  with  him  on 
his  favourite  objects.  Accordingly,  Dr.  Aikin  was  strongly  urged 
both  by  Mr.  Howard's  friends  and  his  own,  to  undertake  the 


84  MEMOIR  OK 

office  of  his  biographer,  and  their  entreaties  were  powerfully 
seconded  by  the  promptings  of  own  mind.  But  the  unaccount- 
able hostility  to  this  excellent  person's  memory  exhibited  by  his 
nearest  kinsman,  who  was  his  heir  and  one  of  his  executors,  oppos- 
ed obstacles  to  the  obtainment  of  proper  materials  for  a  history  of 
the  earlier  and  more  private  part  of  his  life,  which  it  appeared 
difficult  to  overcome  ;  especially  as  Dr.  Aikin's  place  of  resi- 
dence cut  him  off  from  opportunities  of  personal  intercourse 
with  the  persons  best  informed  in  these  particulars.  At  length 
however  these  difficulties  were  overcome  by  the  zealous  assist- 
ance of  Mr.  Howard's  real  friends,  and  in  1792  Dr.  Aikin  pub- 
lished, in  a  small  octavo  volume,  "  A  View  of  the  Character  and 
Public  Services  of  the  late  John  Howard,  Esq.  L  L.  D.  F.  R.  £" 
This  work  comprises  a  full  account  of  the  events  of  Mr.  How- 
ard's life,  of  the  origin  and  progress  of  his  inquiries  into  the 
state  of  prisons,  hospitals,  and  lazarettos;  and  of  his  travels  in 
pursuit  of  his  peculiar  objects  ;  interspersed  with  a  copious 
analysis  of  his  various  publications.  It  concludes  with  a  view  of 
his  character  interspersed  with  illustrative  anecdotes,  somewhat 
in  the  style  of  those  very  agreeable  pieces,  the  French  Eloges. 
The  strongly  marked  features  of  Mr.  Howard's  character,  the 
extraordinary  nature  of  his  exertions,  as  well  as  the  loftiness 
and  purity  of  the  principles  and  motives  from  which  they  sprung, 
and  the  deep  feeling  of  his  subject  evinced  by  his  biographer,  all 
conspire  to  impart  a  deep  and  peculiar  interest  to  this  piece ; 
and  at  the  present  day,  when  the  subject  of  prison  discipline,  to 
which  Mr.  Howard  was  the  first  to  draw  the  attention  of  the 
public,  has  called  forth  the  benevolent  efforts  of  so  many  fellow 
labourers  in  the  cause  of  humanity,  it  seems  likely  to  meet  with 
more  general  acceptance  than  at  the  period  of  its  publication. 

A  few  months  previously  to  the  appearance  of  his  life  of  Mr. 
Howard,  Dr.  Aikin  printed  a  small  volume  of  Poems,  partly  ori- 
ginal, partly  translations  or  imitations  ;  none  of  these  pieces  are 
of  considerable  length,  and  their  topics  are  very  various.  Those 
of  the  number  are  in  all  respects  the  best,  which  bear  a  reference 
to  the  actual  circumstances  of  the  writer,  and  express  his  own 
feelings  and  habitual  trains  of  thought.  Three  of  these,  Hora- 
tian  Philosophy,  the  Epistle  to  Mrs.  Barbauld,  and  that  to  Dr. 
Enfield,  have  been  inserted  in  the  present  memoir,  under  the 
years  in  which  they  were  composed ;  and  as  the  volume  was 
never  re-printed,  I  shall  not  scruple  to  avail  myself  somewhat 


DR.  JOHN  AIKJN.  85 

further  of  its  contents.  The  spirit  of  liberty  is  the  pervading 
soul  of  a  large  proportion  of  the  pieces ;  and  the  author,  fully 
resolved  to  assert  at  all  hazards  the  right  of  expressing  the  opi- 
nions which  he  had  deliberately  formed,  ventured  to  prefix  to  the 
collection  a  Counter  remonstrance,  in  answer  to  the  prudential 
representations  of  friends,  some  passages  of  which  are  too  cha- 
racteristic of  the  author  to  be  omitted  : 

*        *        *        *        *        *         * 

"  What  want  I  in  life  to  be  bought  at  the  price 
Of  courting  proud  folly  or  crouching  to  vice  ? 
What  is  there  should  tempt  me  my  freedom  to  barter, 
Or  a  title  to  bate  of  an  Englishman's  charter  ? 

Shall  the  mind  that  has  drawn  from  the  poet  and  sage 
Some  share  of  the  nurture  of  ev'ry  fair  age, 
Shrink  back  with  false  shame,  or  be  dazzled  with  awe, 
When  weakness  or  prejudice  lays  down  the  law  ? 

The  first  rights  of  nature  when  tyrants  invade, 
And  freedom  and  just  ce  aloud  call  for  aid, 
Unmov'd  at  the  voice  shall  I  stupidly  stand 
Or  raise  in  the  conflict  a  timorous  hand  ? 

O  never  must  cold-hearted  selfishness  know 

The  noble  delights  of  a  generous  glow, 

The  triumphant  emotions  that  swell  in  the  mind 

When  Reason  and  Truth  gain  the  cause  for  mankind. 

From  the  taste  of  these  joys  shall  I'meanly  stoop  down 
And  deaden  my  heart  with  the  fear  of  a  frown  ; 
Weigh  a  sentiment's  worth  with  the  chance  of  a  fee, 
And  throw  in  a  scale, — '  Why  'tis  nothing  to  me  ?' 

Is  it  nought  to  be  lord  of  a  liberal  breast ; 

Is  Truth  a  mere  phantom,  and  Freedom  a  jest  ?" 


The  notices  of  his  feelings  and  opinions  contained  in  his  pri- 
vate correspondence  are  entirely  conformable  to  the  manly  senti- 
ments which  he  thus  courageously  avowed  to  the  world  ;  and  I 
shall  here  offer  a  few  miscellaneous  extracts  from  letters  written 
in  the  years  1790  and  1791- 

Many  traces  appear,  in  different  parts  of  his  works,  of  a  desire 
to  correct  that  blind  admiration  of  which  Dr.  Johnson  was  for  a 
considerable  time  the  object,  and  the  following  judgment  of  his 
character  is  expressed  to  Mrs.  Barbauld : 

"He  had  not,  indeed,  a  grain  of  the  noble  enthusiasm,  the  calm 


86  MEMOIR  OF 

simplicity,  the  elevated  purpose  of  a  great  man.  His  temper, 
habits,  and  system  equally  disqualified  him  from  attaining  that 
character.  He  was  able  with  great  accuracy  to  compare  every 
literary  and  moral  idea  with  the  standards  in  his  own  mind,  and 
to  detect  all  false  pretensions  within  his  own  compass.  But 
there  were  heights  in  both  to  which  he  could  not  ascend.  His 
fife  fell  far  short  of  his  writings,  and  his  faults  and  asperities 
were  rather  aggravated  than  softened  by  age." 

That  remarkable  character  Mr.  Thomas  Day,  author  of  Sand- 
ford  and  Merton,  calls  forth  these  reflections  : 

"  We  have  just  read  with  pleasure  Keir*s  Life  of  Mr.  Day. 
Nothing  deserves  our  admiration  so  much  as  these  characters  of 
principle.  To  be  amiable,  only  requires  good  nature  and  indif- 
ference. Weakness  has  a  better  chance  for  it  than  virtue.  What 
this  age  wants  are,  I  am  sure,  examples  of  firmness  and  consis- 
tency; the  friends  of  liberty  particularly  should  say  to  them- 
selves, in  ea  tempora  natua  est,  quibus  fir  mare  animum  expediat 
constanlibus  exemplisS* 

In  a  letter  referring  to  Mrs.  Barbauld's  admirable  poetical 
Epistle  to  Mr.  Wilberforce,  on  his  efforts  for  the  abolition  of  the 
slave  trade,  which,  for  the  time,  had  been  frustrated  of  success  ; 
his  ardent  attachment  to  the  great  interests  of  society  thus  breaks 
forth  : 

"  How  little,  how  contemptible,  do  all  the  petty  pursuits  of 
philology  appear,  to  the  great  concerns  relative  to  man  and  his 
first  interests  which  are  transacting  at  this  instant,  before  our 
eyes,  and  in  which  we  are  all  invited  to  share !  If  Solon  con- 
demned the  man  who  should  remain  neuter  in  the  little  party 
disputes  of  his  country,  what  must  be  thought  of  him  who  through 
timidity  or  indifference  refuses  to  take  part  in  questions  that  are 
to  decide  the  future  condition  perhaps  of  all  mankind  ?" 

Some  of  those  readers  whose  memory  contains  the  stores  of  not 
less  than  thirty  years,  will  be  able  to  call  to  mind,  that  among 
the  measures  adopted  by  the  first  zealous  petitioners  for  the 
abolition  of  the  slave  trade,  was  that  of  persuading  individuals 
to  abstain,  as  a  matter  of  conscience,  from  the  consumption  of 
sugar,  and  all  other  West  Indian  produce  raised  by  the  labour  of 
slaves.  To  those  who  had  studied  mankind  beyond  the  limits  of 
small  and  peculiar  sects,  it  was  obvious,  that  this  renunciation 
would  never  become  sufficiently  prevalent  to  produce  any  sensi- 
ble effect  on  the  demand  for  commodities  of  such  general  use ; 


DR.  JOHN  AlKIN.  87 

and  on  this  ground  of  inutility  alone,  Dr.  Aikin  refused  for  a  time 
to  concur  in  this  point  with  the  persons  around  him.  His  change 
of  opinion  is  thus  related  to  his  sister  : 

"I  am  at  length  become  a  practical  antisacharist.  I  could  not 
continue  to  be  the  only  person  in  the  family  who  used  a  luxury 
which  grew  less  and  less  sivcet  from  the  reflections  mingled  with 
it.  I  do  not  in  this  matter  look  to  effects.  They  are  in  the  hands 
of  Providence,  and  I  neither  expect  nor  despair  about  them.  I 
resign  the  use  of  sugar,  merely  on  the  conviction  that,  feeling  as 
I  do  about  the  mode  in  which  it  is  procured,  I  cannot  justify  the 
use  of  it  to  myself-  It  is  a  personal  affair  to  me,  and  I  neither 
feel  a  desire  to  make  converts,  nor  trouble  myself  about  conse- 
quences. The  sacrifice  I  find  less  than  I  expected, — it  is  indeed 
almost  too  little  to  make  to  principle,  with  the  idea  of  merit.  I 
know  not  whether  mere  economy  might  not  do  as  much.  But 
with  respect  to  the  young  people,  and  even  children,  who  have 
entirely  on  their  own  accord  resigned  an  indulgence  important 
to  them,  I  triumph  and  admire !  Nothing  is  to  be  despaired  of, 
if  many  of  the  rising  generation  are  capable  of  such  conduct." 

The  sentiments  in  his  letters  to  Dr.  Haygarth  during  this 
period  are  equally  spirited ;  indeed  it  rather  appears  that  his 
friend's  avowed  difference  of  opinion  on  public  affairs  lent  addi- 
tional force  to  his  expressions ;  and  even  the  professional  topics 
which  always  occupied  a  considerable  share  of  their  correspon- 
dence, are  occasionally  enlivened  with  strokes  of  Opposition 
politics — as  in  the  following  instance ;  where  the  writer  will  also 
be  found  to  have  touched  upon  abuses  which  have  since  under- 
gone much  pointed  remark  from  various  quarters,  and  exercised 
the  investigation  of  a  parliamentary  committee. 

"  The  absurdity  of  the  quarantine  of  persons  in  this  country 
is  inconceivable.  Sir  Charles  Knowles,  a  naval  officer  here,  tells 
me,  that  coming  once  from  the  Levant,  he  touched  at  Plymouth 
and  there  went  on  shore  and  called  on  several  people:  after- 
wards, on  taking  his  ship  to  Portsmouth,  he  was  obliged  to  per- 
form quarantine.  He  says  he  once  knew  a  gentleman  called  out 
of  the  Opera-house  to  go  on  board  his  ship  for  a  quarantine. 
Such  absurdities  cannot  exist  among  Hottentots  and  Cherokees. 
But  we  have  as  bad  in  various  departments.  Indeed,  indeed, 
my  friend,  this  wise  and  enlightened  nation  wants  a  thorough 
reform  in  almost  all  its  institutions,  and  they  are  its  worst  ene- 
mies who  coax  it  into  an  idea  of  its  consummate  good  sense  and 


88  MEMOIR  OF 

knowledge.  You  are  one  of  the  greatest  innovators  I  know,  and 
I  honour  you  for  it.'' 

In  a  letter  dated  in  December,  1790,  he  thus  pours  for  his 
whole  mind  to  his  friend : 

"  So,  my  good  friend,  though  you  make  strokes  at  me  about 
interference  in  politics,  you  could  not  refrain  from  indulging  that 
triumph  respecting  Mr.  Burke's  performance  which  fills  the 
breasts  of  nine-tenths  of  the  people  of  England.  Who  would 
think  this  to  have  been  the  country  of  the  Sidneys,  Lockes,  &c. 
when  an  oratorical  effusion  is  able  to  bring  about  that  wonderful 
conviction  and  uniformity  of  opinion  which  is  only  to  be  expected 
upon  a  new  subject  scarcely  ever  before  written  or  thought  about  ? 
But,  in  fact,  the  political  feeling  of  many  has  never  gone  further 
than  to  compare  all  other  forms  of  government  with  the  British 
Constitution,  and  assign  them  their  merits  and  demerits  in  exact 
proportions  to  their  approach  to,  or  departure  from,  that  all -per- 
fect model.  I  certainly  do  not  agree  with  you  in  thinking  that 
a  folio  is  necessary  in  reply  to  Mr.  Burke  ;  for  setting  aside  what 
in  him  is  unanswerable,  and  what  is  not  worth  answering,  and 
being  content  to  admire  that  unequalled  flow  of  wit  and  brillian- 
cy which  is  no  subject  for  an  answer,  his  false  principles  and 
distorted  reasonings  will  not  I  think  require  many  pages  to  expose 
them  at  the  bar  of  good  sense.  I  assure  you,  however,  that  / 
have  had  no  thoughts  of  engaging  with  this  Achilles,  nor  do  my 
present  studies  or  occupations  lie  in  the  political  way.  I  am,  in 
fact,  doing  nothing  but  amusing  myself,  and  a  part  of  that  amuse- 
ment is  the  publication  of  a  few  poems,  which  I  suppose  will  soon 
appear.  There,  indeed,  you  will  see  what  I  thinkupon  politics, 
and  how  boldly  I  dare  tell  my  thoughts.  In  short,  jacta  est  alea. 
At  my  age  it  would  be  trifling  not  to  have  a  character,  and  cow- 
ardly not  to  avow  and  stick  to  it.  Nor  do  I  think  it  will  be  much 
at  the  expense  of  that  regard  to  my  family  which  you  justly  think 
(at  least  in  my  condition)  the  first  of  duties.  If  I  remain  con- 
tent to  pace  in  the  limited  circle  in  which  I  now  move,  it  is  pro- 
bable I  may  continue  to  do  so  notwithstanding  a  few  political 
squabbles.  But  if  ambition  should  ever  lead  me  into  a  new  field, 
my  success  must  depend  upon  such  connections  and  supports  as 
such  a  conduct  will  not  be  unfavourable  to.  But,  believevme, 
this  is  no  consideration  of  mine.  I  feel  a  pleasure  in  acting  a 
manly  independent  part  which  is  superior  to  any  thing  increased 
opulence  could  give ;  and  I  know  not  why  I  should  wish  a  dif- 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  89 

ferent  kind  of  happiness  for  my  family  than  for  myself.  My 
dear  friend,  though  we  differ  in  many  things,  yet  I  am  sure  we 
agree  in  loving  our  families,  and  in  valuing  principles  of  honour 
and  integrity.  The  account  you  give  of  your  domestic  happi- 
ness is  highly  pleasing  to  me.  May  it  continually  increase !  I 
am  glad,  too,  that  your  thoughts  and  labours  in  the  prevention 
of  the  small  pox  are  again  to  appear,  in  a  new  form.  Any  ser- 
vices I  can  do  in  this,  or  any  thing  else,  are  at  your  command. . 
Can  you  suggest  any  close,  fagging  employment  for  my  pen  in 
the  medical  way  ?" 

Meanwhile  his  situation  at  Yarmouth  was  becoming  daily 
more  disagreeable  to  him,  and  in  every  respect  less  worth  his 
keeping.  On  the  other  hand,  rather  encouraging  answers  had 
been  returned  to  the  inquiries  which  he  had  authorised  some  of 
his  nearest  connections  to  make  respecting  the  probability  of  his 
medical  success  in  London ;  and  after  making  a  hasty  journey 
thither  for  the  purpose  of  examining  the  ground  with  his  own 
eyes,  he  finally  resolved  on  removing  with  his  family  early  in 
the  year  1792.  The  last  letter  written  by  him  to  his  friend  from 
Yarmouth,  thus  explains  his  feelings  and  prospects  at  this  im- 
portant juncture  of  his  history: 

"  It  gives  me  great  satisfaction,  my  dear  friend,  that  you,  as 
•well  as  all  my  other  friends  and  well  wishers,  approve  the  im- 
portant step  I  am  going  to  take.  Though  in  my  temper  1  am  neither 
sanguine  or  ambitious,  I  cannot  but  look  forward  with  some  pleasing 
expectations  to  a  change  in  situation  which  will  make  life  more  va- 
luable to  me,  and  enlarge  the  sphere  of  my  activity  in  various 
ways.  Indeed,  even  had  I  not  been  a  victim  to  party  bigotry  in  this 
place,  a  removal  would  have  been  on  many  accounts  desirable, 
and  principally  on  account  of  the  want  of  stimulus,  and  indiffer- 
ence to  every  thing  which  was  creeping  on  me.  It  was  this,  per- 
haps, which  precipitated  me  into  controversy  by  way  of  relief  from 
insipidity ;  and  if  I  have  suffered  in  some  respects  from  my  med- 
dling, I  think  it  has  done  me  good  in  others.  Do  not  suppose, 
however,  that  I  go  to  London  on  the  plan  of  plunging  again  into 
party  contests,  or  making  myself  the  hero  of  a  cause.  Whatever 
violence  may  be  imagined  deducible  from  my  principles,  my 
temper,  believe  me,  is  as  moderate  as  ever.  The  strong  impulse 
is  over,  and  I  shall  henceforth  do  little  more  than  bestow  my 
warm  wishes  on  what  I  deliberately  think  the  interest  of  truth 
and  mankind.  I  have,  it  is  true,  felt  somewhat  too  much  on 
M 


90  MEMOIR  OF 

some  of  the  late  great  events  of  the  world  ;  and  if  the  fair  fabric 
of  French  liberty  is  after  all  to  sink  in  blood,  and  tyranny  and 
priestcraft  again  to  assume  the  sway,  I  shall  scarcely  be  able 
to  bear  the  disappointment  with  perfect  tranquillity.  But, 
on  the  whole,  it  is  my  resolution  to  attend  chiefly  to  my  own 
concerns,  and  become  as  selfish  and  bustling  as  my  lest  friends 
can  wish.  So  much  for  my  sect  of  philosophy  !  Now  to  the  state 
of  my  affairs. 

"  I  have  nothing  now  to  keep  me  here  but  the  want  of  a  house 
in  London  ;  and  in  order  to  expedite  this  matter,  I  mean  again 
to  run  to  town  in  about  a  week,  where  I  shall  stay  till  I  have 
suited  myself,  and  then  only  come  down  again  to  bid  farewel 
and  wind  up  my  little  concerns.  My  situation  in  town  I  mean 
to  fix  in  the  city,  where  my  friends  chiefly  reside,  and  if  possible 
towards  the  Hackney  side,  as  1  shall  have  various  connections 
there.  I  shall  practise  as  a  physician  only.  At  present  I  have 
no  thoughts  of  giving  lectures,  as  that  can  only  be  done  to  advan- 
tage with  a  hospital.  I  mean  to  employ  all  my  leisure  in  my 
Medical  Biography,  in  which  I  am  again  seriously  interested, 
and  for  which  I  can  there  easily  procure  every  necessary  aid.  I 
have  already  completely  analysed  various  works  ;  among  the 
rest  all  Willis's  ;  and  I  am  quite  of  your  opinion,  that  a  full  view 
of  the  progress  of  medical  doctrines  and  practice  is  the  most  (or 
rather  the  only]  important  part  of  my  design.  A  few  literary 
schemes  besides  may  have  their  place 

"  I  do  indeed  rejoice  that  I  shall  be  somewhat  nearer  you,  and 
at  the  grand  centre  of  attraction,  which  some  time  or  other  ex- 
tends its  influence  to  every  body  (who  is  any  body)  in  the  king- 
dom." 

In  pursuance  of  the  plans  here  indicated,  Dr.  Aikin  took  a 
house  in  Broad  Street  Buildings,  in  which  he  assembled  his  fa- 
mily in  the  spring  of  1792,  and  commenced  his  career  in  the 
capacity  of  a  London  physician.  Many  circumstances  conspired 
to  render  the  opening  of  this  new  scene  of  life  auspicious  and 
agreeable.  The  near  and  dear  connections  whom  he  had  quitted 
with  regret  six  years  before,  and  to  whom  he  seemed  to  be  re- 
turning from  a  tedious  exile,  received  him  and  his  with  open 
arms;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barbauld,  now  settled  at  Hampstead, 
were  added  to  the  number.  The  common  attraction  of  the  me- 
tropolis had  also  brought  within  its  sphere  several  old  and  vain 
cd  friends  from  whom  he  had  long  been  separated  ;  especially 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  91 

Dr.  Priestley  and  Mr.  Wakefield,  who  were  at  this  time  resident 
at  Hackney  and  engaged  as  tutors  in  the  new  dissenting  college 
there,  which  had  been  established  as  a  successor  to  the  War- 
rington  one ;  and  in  which  Dr.  Aikin's  eldest  son  was  now  a 
student.  Many  of  the  friends  of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  who 
regarded  him  as  a  kind  of  confessor  in  the  cause,  welcomed  him 
with  cordiality,  and  his  literary  character  served  him  as  a  pass- 
port in  other  quarters.  There  was  reason  to  hope  under  these  cir- 
cumstances that  his  professional  success  would  ultimately  corres- 
pond with  his  wishes ;  the  characteristic  moderation  of  which 
had  undergone  no  change  from  his  change  of  situation,  as  the  first 
letter  which  he  addressed  to  Dr.  Haygarth  from  London  abun- 
dantly proves. 

"  I  have  got  access  to  a  very  capital  medical  library,  particu- 
larly rich  in  English  medical  authors,  Dr.  Sims's.  It  will  be  my 
own  fault  if  I  do  not  find  employment  there  for  all  my  leisure, 
for  a  long  time ;  and  be  assured  that  I  find  much  more  satisfac- 
tion in  such  employment  than  in  any  of  the  topics  by  which  the 
world  is  at  present  agitated.  Still,  I  know  that  even  that  is  not 
what  ought  chiefly  to  engage  me  in  the  situation  I  now  occupy, 
but  rather  the  great  and  intricate  science  of  pushing  one's  way 
in  a  crowd.  Yet  what  man  of  forty-five  can  cast  his  part  anew 
in  life, — and  after  mediocrity  and  literary  leisure  have  been  my 
darling  objects  so  long,  how  can  I  ever  change  them  for  their  op- 
posities  ?  Believe  me,  not  all  the  splendour  I  see  daily  passing 
before  my  eyes,  has  in  the  least  impaired  my  relish  for  a  book, 
a  domestic  fireside,  and  the  society  of  two  or  three  selected 
friends;  and  all  my  desires  are  limited  to  the  ability  of  enjoy- 
ing them  with  security,  and  transmitting  similar  blessings  to  my 
children." 

His  views  and  prospects,  as  well  as  the  literary  undertakings 
with  which  he  occupied  his  leisure,  are  further  explained  in  a 
letter  to  the  same  friend  a  few  months  afterwards. 

"  In  answer  to  your  inquiries  about  me,  I  am  to  acquaint  you 
that  my  professional  employment,  like  the  fame  of  Mercellus, 
*  crescit  occulto  velut  arbor  #00.'  It  is,  I  think,  silently  creep- 
ing forwards,  with  little  chance  ever  to  break  out'-into  splendour, 
but  I  hope,  with  a  reasonable  prospect  of  answering  my  mode- 
rate expectations  in  time.  It  appears  to  me  that  in  London,  as 
every  where  else,  it  is  a  man's  business  to  avail  himself  of  his 
own  peculiar  advantages,  and  to  push  on  in  the  way  nature  and 


92  MEMOIR  OF 

fortune  seem  to  point  out  to  him  in  particular.  Now,  my  situa- 
tion here  is  that  of  a  person  not  void  of  friends  and  family  con- 
nections, of  a  certain  standing  and  known  character,  and  there- 
fore without  the  need  (as  1  am  sure  I  am  without  the  talent)  of 
puffing  and  elbowing  like  a  young  unknown  adventurer.  Our  old 
friend  Dr.  Fothergill  used  to  say,  that  he  got  forwards  by  doing 
what  business  he  had  to  do,  as  well  as  ever  he  could.  This  is 
the  kind  of  policy  that  best  suits  me.  To  be  attentive,  obliging, 
discreet,  and  to  take  all  proper  opportunities  of  displaying  such 
talents  as  I  may  possess  fitted  to  inspire  esteem,  are  the  only 
modes  that  my  temper  will  let  me  practise,  and  I  believe  the  state 
of  public  opinion  is  not  so  bad  that  in  the  long  run  they  will  not 
answer.  Meantime,  my  known  engagements  in  medical  study 
and  writing  answer  the  purpose  of  giving  me  professional  repu- 
tation among  my  brethren  ;  I  take  sufficient  care  to  make  known 
my  pursuit  of  medical  biography,  and  have  had  several  books  out 
of  the  college  library,  as  well  as  from  private  collections.  All 
these  I  fairly  analyse,  and  am  daily  adding  to  my  stores  of  this 
kind  ;  for  my  plan  is  now  as  full  as  you  would  wish  it,  as  to  giving 
a  view  of  the  opinions  and  practice  of  our  medical  authors.  With 
respect  to  acquaintances  among  the  faculty,  I  have  made  several 
slight  ones,  but  none  intimate.  My  old  master,  Dr.  Garthshore, 
takes  a  good  deal  of  notice  of  me,  and  at  his  weekly  conversa- 
ziones I  have  met  with  more  medical  and  literary  persons  than 
any  where  else.  I  am  no  frequenter  of  coffee  houses,  those  in 
the  city  being  the  resort  chiefly  of  humdrum  politicians ;  but  I 
belong  to  a  club  or  two  of  select  men,  and  I  take  all  opportuni- 
ties of  becoming  acquainted  with  eminent  persons  in  every  line. 

"I  am  engaged  with  a  few  literary  persons  in  a  plan  of  a  month- 
ly publication,  the  purpose  of  which  is  to  give  an  account  of  all 
memoirs  printed  by  the  learned  societies  both  at  home  and 
abroad.  We  mean  to  afford  by  it  full  information  of  every  thing 
new  that  is  going  forward  in  science  and  the  arts,  and  do  not 
doubt,  if  we  perform  our  task  properly,  of  making  it  a  very  use- 
ful work.  We  shall  publish  our  first  number  in  January  next. 
My  share  will  be  chiefly  the  medical  and  natural  history  depart- 
ments. 

"  As  to  the  horrible  events  that  are  now  going  on  in  the  po- 
litical world,  what  can  I  say,  but  that  I  feel  them  as  acutely  as 
you  can  do?  But  we  live  to  little  purpose,  unless  we  accustom 
ourselves  to  look  through  effects  to  their  causes  ;  and  as  in  this 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  93 

case  I  think  the  whole  mischief  imputable  to  the  accursed  spirit 
of  military  despotism,  my  resentment  against  tyranny  is  but  the 
more  inflamed  on  account  of  the  discredit  thrown  by  its  means 
on  the  cause  of  liberty  and  mankind.  'Tis  a  strange  world  ; — 
my  hopes  fail,  but  not  my  wishes." 

Respecting  the  literary  undertakings  here  referrcd^to,  the  rea- 
der is  already  apprised  that  discouragements  of  various  kinds 
intercepted  the  continuation  of  the  Medical  Biography.  The 
periodical  work  appeared  under  the  title  of  Memoirs  of  Science 
and  the  rfrts  ;  but  was  after  a  time  discontinued,  from  causes  of 
failure  with  which  I  am  not  acquainted. 

The  critical  essay  on  the  poems  of  Goldsmith,  re-printed  in  the 
present  collection,  was  composed  in  this  year,  and  my  father  also 
produced,  in  conjunction  with  his  sister,  the  first  volume  oi 
Evenings  at  Home — the  most  popular,  perhaps,  of  all  his  works, 
and  one  of  the  most  meritorious; — for  how  can  genius,  know- 
ledge, and  virtue  be  occupied  with  greater  certainty  of  produc- 
ing good  than  in  pouring  their  treasares  upon  the  mind  of  youth  ? 

The  volumes  of  this  work  appeared  successively  during  seve- 
ral subsequent  years,  and  amounted  at  length  to  six;  Mrs.  Bar- 
bauld  contributing  in  the  whole  about  half  a  volume  to  the  col- 
lection, and  my  father  supplying  the  rest. 

It  is  a  miscellaneous  collection  of  tales,  fables,  and  dialogues, 
interspersed  with  some  short  pieces  of  verse ;  the  subjects  are 
extremely  various,  and  there  is  no  arrangement  or  classification 
of  the  pieces.  With  this  apparent  desultoriness,  however,  no 
work  for  the  use  of  young  people  ever  had  more  serious  or  more 
definite  objects  in  view;  and  to  an  intelligent  reader  of  mature 
age,  its  attentive  perusal  would  disclose  the  whole  theory  and 
practice  of  the  author,  as  far  as  education  is  concerned ;  besides 
affording  notices  of  his  opinions  on  many  highly  importanftopics  ; 
and  conveying  a  correct  and  lively  impression  of  his  temper  and 
feelings,  and  his  manner  of  living  and  conversing  with  his  chil- 
dren in  the  bosom  of  their  home. 

For  the  information  and  amusement  of  those  happy  children, 
indeed,  many  of  the  pieces  were  originally  composed  by  him  ; 
and  in  one  form  or  other  they  had  received  the  substance  of  most 
of  them ; — for  in  the  midst  of  all  his  studies  and  various  occu- 
pations, he  constantly  discharged,  in  the  most  assiduous  as  well 
as  engaging  manner,  the  offices  of  parental  instruction  ; — all  his 
children  were  occasionally  under  his  own  tuition ;  but  the  two 


94  .MEMOIR  OF 

younger  ones  were  educated  entirely  at  home,  by  himself  and 
their  exemplary  mother. 

The  whole  of  Evenings  at  Home  may  be  regarded  as  a  com- 
mentary upon  his  two  favourite  ideas — of  teaching  things  rather 
than  words;  and  of  early  presenting  to  the  mind  capacious  and 
diversified  views  of  the  great  empire  of  knowledge.  The  work 
contains  a  good  deal  of  the  natural  history,  both  of  animals  and 
plants,  not  detailed  in  the  dry  mode  of  systematic  compendiums, 
but  animated  and  enriched  with  bold  and  striking  sketches  of  the 
dwellings  and  manners  of  the  living  tribes,  and  of  the  general 
appearance  and  habits,  and  principal  utilities  of  the  vegetable 
families.  Some  elements  of  chemistry  and  mineralogy  are  taught 
on  a  similar  plan,  and  much  incidental  information  is  conveyed 
on  manufactures  and  the  useful  arts.  Other  pieces  relate  to  man, 
in  various  views  of  his  state  and  character.  The  tales  and  little 
dramas,  which  exhibit  great  fertility  and  happiness  of  invention, 
and  in  some  instances  a  melting  tenderness  truly  characteristic 
of  the  author's  heart,  have  the  usual  purpose  of  such  stories,  of 
combining  moral  instruction  with  entertainment :  but  the  mo- 
rality which  they  inculcate  is  not  that  of  children  merely,  but  of 
men  and  of  citizens ;  it  is  lofty,  but  not  visionary,  correct,  yet 
glowing;  it  forms  the  mind  to  discrimination,  while  it  engages 
the  youthful  feelings  in  the  cause  of  truth,  of  freedom,  and  of 
virtue. 

The  state  of  public  affairs  during  the  disastrous  year  1793, 
could  excite  none  but  painful  emotions  in  the  bosom  of  any  lover 
of  his  country,  and  of  true  liberty.  How  deeply  it  wounded  the 
tranquillity  of  Dr.  Aikin,  will  best  appear  from  his  unreserved 
correspondence  with  his  dearest  friends.  In  the  month  ot  June 
he  thus  writes  to  one  of  the  number: 

" I  have  found  myself  so  little  better  acquainted  with  the 

interesting  events  that  are  passing,  here  at  London,  than  you 
are  at  K.,  that  I  could  not  think  them  worth  making  the  subject 
of  a  letter  to  you, — especially  as  their  tenor  can  afford  no  pleas- 
ing matter  for  speculation.  We  are  fairly  immersed  in  a  bloody, 
expensive,  and  I  think,  unjust  war,  and  we  must  either  lament 
its  success,  or  rejoice  in  the  calamities  of  our  country.  Such  an 
alternative  is  enough  to  make  one  draw  off  entirely  from  politi- 
ral  discussion,  and  1  do  it,  as  much  as  the  occasional  efferves- 
cence of  libera  indignaiio  will  give  me  leave.  I  am  obliged  to 
those  of  my  friends  who  wish  for  the  sake  of  my  interest  to  re- 


DR.  JOHN  AIK.IN.  95 

duce  me  quite  to  the  state  of  a  mutum  pecus  ;  but  at  forty-six,  if 
a  man  has  not  found  out  what  conduces  to  his  happiness,  and  has 
not  acquired  prudence  to  pursue  it,  I  am  sure  little  can  be  done 
by  friends  troubling  themselves  about  him.  Meantime,  I  doubt 
not  but  any  part  I  may  have  taken  in  politics  has  been  greatly 
exaggerated  to  those  friends I  belong  to  no  political  so- 
ciety whatever.  I  keep  company,  it  is  true,  with  persons  of  well 
known  sentiments,  who  happen  also  to  be  some  of  my  best 
friends,  and  I  am  not  afraid  in  private  companies  of  speaking 
without  disguise.  But  these  things  I  shall  do  at  all  hazards." 

With  another  friend  he  thus  expostulates  : 

"I  thank  you  for  your  caution,  which  I  know  proceeds  from 

true  kindness Seriously,  however,  my  dear  friend,  I  wish 

you  tor  a  moment  to  reflect,  what  must  the  state  of  public  opi- 
nion in  this  country  be,  when  expressing  an  abhorrence  of  hypoc- 
risy and  tyranny  is  to  be  called  maintaining  French  principles, 
and  is  to  subject  a  man  to  be  treated  like  a  foe  to  the  human 
race !  I  know  not  what  prospect  of  public  danger  may  haunt 
your  mind,  but  1  can  foresee  no  possible  event  worse  than  the 
conversion  of  Englishmen  into  persecutors  and  slaves.  If  persons 
of  reading  and  reflection  are  hurried  along  with  this  torrent  of 
false  opinion,  what  is  left  on  which  to  found  a  hope  of  saving 
us  from  the  lowest  degradation  ?" 

Towards  the  close  of  the  year  he  thus  again  opens  himself  to 
ius  first  correspondent : 

"  With  this  parcel  I  send  for  your  dear  H.  a  third  volume  of 
Evenings  at  Home,  and  for  yourself  my  Letters,  just  fresh  from 
the  press,  and  not  yet  published.  Your  free  and  full  judgment 
concerning  them  will  give  me  much  satisfaction,  as  it  is  a  judg- 
ment in  which  experience  has  made  me  confide.  I  cannot  ex- 
pect that  my  opinions  on  such  a  variety  of  topics  will  meet  the 
perfect  concurrence  of  perhaps  a  single  reader ;  but  if  those  of 
whom  I  think  well  shall  approve  their  general  spirit,  and  partic- 
ularly if  they  see  nothing  objectionable  in  the  manner  in  which 
my  notions  are  offered,  I  shall  not  repent  that  I  Have  sent  them 
forth  into  the  world 

"The  confinement  of  Muir  and  Palmer  in  the  hulks  is  an  ex- 
ample of  tyranny  scarcely,  I  think,  legal,  certainly  not  decent. 
It  has  produced  here  much  emotion,  though  perhaps  only  in  the 
breasts  of  those  who  before  were  enemies  to  the  present  system. 
Several  persons  of  respectable  situation  and  character  have  been 


96  MEMOIR  OF 

to  visit  them,  and  they  are  as  well  treated  as  such  a  situation 
will  permit. 

"  There  is  no  doubt  that  we  shall  have  another  campaign, 
though  when  Mr.  Pitt  comes  with  his  demand  of  twenty  millions 
(as  I  understand  he  will,,  it  may  cause  some  blank  looks  among 
the  country  gentlemen.  They  are  to  be  told,  however,  that  every 
thing  is  at  stake, — that  their  property  and  very  existence  depend 
upon  the  event ; — and  truly  I  begin  almost  to  think  that  it  does; 
though  to  me  it  is  evident  that  this  desperate  state,  with  respect 
to  ourselves,  is  of  our  own  bringing  on. 

"The  condition  of  France  becomes  every  day  more  extraordi- 
nary ; — a  country  without  religion,  without  laws,  without  settled 
government,  yet  from  individual  ardour  and  enthusiasm  capable 
of  the  most  surprising  and  regular  exertions,  and  never  more 
formidable  to  its  foes  than  at  this  moment.  A  very  moderate 
degree  of  superstition  would  make  one  hunt  through  old  prophe- 
cies to  find  a  clue  to  events  otherwise  inscrutable,  and  many 
minds  seem  at  present  to  look  that  way.  It  is  however,  perhaps, 
no  superstition  to  suppose  that  this  wonderful  impetus,  seem- 
ingly governed  by  no  human  principles,  is  an  instrument  in  the 
hands  of  the  Deity  by  which  he  means  to  effect  some  great  pur- 
poses of  overturning  systems  which  cool  reason  is  unable  to  mas- 
ter. And  yet — I  know  not  if  the  past  experience  of  the  world 
will  authorise  such  notions  of  Divine  Providence.  All  is  doubt 
and  darkness  !  If  we  live  to  see  the  end,  we  shall  be  somewhat 
enlightened. 

"  .  .  .  .  Pray  bear  up  against  all  the  plagues  of  your  profession. 
What  profession  is  without  them  ?  You  have  a  good  (an  un- 
common) stock  of  merit  of  every  kind  to  trust  to.  It  cannot  fail 
of  insuring  you  at  least  a  tolerable  share  of  success.  Enjoy  the 
world  as  it  goes,  if  you  can.  These  are  times  in  which  long- 
sighted wisdom  is  arrant  folly." 

Soon  after,  he  thus  writes  to  Dr.  Haygarth  : 

"  Have  you  heard  of  the  institution  of  a  Literary  and  Philo- 
sophical Society  here  ?  It  was  first  thought  of  by  Dr.  Priestley, 
and  a  few  friends  joined  him  to  set  it  a-going.  They  made  rne  Se- 
cretary. We  are  now  near  thirty  members,  several  of  them  names 
well  known  in  science  and  literature.  We  meet  once  a  fort- 
night, and  either  converse  or  read  papers,  as  it  happens ;  but  we 
are  only  organising  as  yet,  and  have  done  little.  Our  friend  W. 
is  a  member  ;  but  our  founder,  alas  !  is  going  to  leave  us.  This 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  97 

month  will  separate  him  from  his  native  land,  probably  for  ever. 
It  throws  a  gloom  over  my  mind  which  I  cannot  express.  I  will 
not  rail  or  declaim  on  the  occasion, — I  only  deeply  lament. 

".  .  .  .  I  feel  as  I  ought  your  kind  admonition  to  political  pru- 
dence ;  but  too  many  years  have  gone  to  form  my  character  and 
principles  to  admit  of  an  easy  change,  nor  can  I  find  motives  to 
make  me  renounce  the  greatest  pleasure  of  my  life,  that  of  keep- 
ing the  company  I  like,  and  speaking  my  mind.  My  Letters  will 
show  whether  I  am  disposed  to  use  this  liberty  immoderately.  I 
shall  be  glad  at  your  leisure  to  be  fairly  told  how  the  sentiments 
in  them  appear  to  you." 

The  Letters  here  referred  to,  formed  the  first  volume  of  a  work 
entitled  Letters  from  a  Father  to  his  Son  on  various  topics  rela- 
tive to  literature  and  the  conduct  of  life,  which  appeared  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  year  1794,  and  which  here  requires  a  somewhat 
extended  notice,  as  the  most  original,  and,  in  several  respects, 
the  most  important  performance  of  its  author. 

Of  the  thirty  letters  of  which  this  volume  is  composed,  about 
one-third  are  on  subjects  of  taste  and  literature ;  the  rest  relate 
principally  to  points  connected  with  morals  and  the  conduct  of 
life.    As  the  son  to  whom  they  were  addressed  had  already  com- 
pleted his  education,  and  was  entering  upon  the  duties  of  a  pro- 
fession, the  topics  discussed,  as  well  as  the  manner  of  treating 
them,  are  adapted  to  the  state  of  manhood,  and  it  would  be  an 
error  to  regard  the  work  as  an  elementary  one.  The  author  him- 
self, in  the  valedictory  letter,  desires  his  son  to  regard  them  as 
supplementary  to  the  systematic  instructions  which  he  had  re- 
ceived from  books  and  lectures.     "  Of  such  instructions,"  he 
adds,  "it  was  the  chief  purpose  to  establish  principles — a  point 
of  most  essential  consequence,  which  I  hope  and  believe  has  been 
sufficiently  secured  in  your  education.     My  view  in  writing  was 
rather  to  place  in  a  strong  and  familiar  light  some  subordinate 
truths  belonging  to  the  experimental  practice  of  life,  which, 
though  not  of  the  fundamental  importance  of  the  former,  yet  are 
of  no  small  weight  in  promoting  a  man's  happiness  and  utility. 
With  respect  to  the  letters  relative  to  points  of  taste  and  litera- 
ture, it  has  been  their  chief  aim  to  obviate  prejudices,  and  to  give 
that  turn  to  your  thoughts  which  might  enable  you  to  judge  and 
enjoy  for  yourself,  without  first  appealing  to  the  decision  of  a 
dictator.     For  freedom  of  thinking  is  the  same  thing  in  matters 
of  greater  and  of  smaller  moment;  and  though  I  hold  it  of  little 
N 


98  MEMOIR  OF 

consequence  how  a  person  is  pleased,  provided  he  be  innocently 
so,  yet  I  would  not  wish  him,  even  in  his  pleasures,  implicitly  to 
follow  the  decrees  of  custom  and  authority,  lest  it  should  induce 
the  same  habit  of  passive  compliance  in  affairs  of  capital  impor- 
tance." The  general  purpose  here  avowed  is  closely  adhered  to 
in  the  work,  and  it  is  interesting  to  observe  the  mode  in  which 
the  discussion  of  a  great  variety  and  diversity  of  subjects  is  ren- 
dered subservient  to  its  accomplishment  Two  letters  on  At- 
tachment to  the  Ancients,  explain  with  sagacity  and  perspicuity 
the  sources  of  the  prejudices  entertained  on  this  subject,  and 
suggest  principles  for  distinguishing  the  intrinsic  from  the  ad- 
ventitious value  of  the  literature  of  remote  ages;  Pope's  Essay 
on  Criticism  undergoes  free  examination  in  another  letter.  That 
on  Nature  and  Art,  and  the  Love  of  Novelty,  cautions  against  the 
exclusive  spirit  of  the  modern  English  school  of  taste  ;  and  the 
subject  is  further  pursued  in  the  letter  on  Ornamantal  Garden- 
ing* while  that  on  Ruins  examines  another  object  of  fashionable 
admiration.  Two  letters  on  Classification  in  Natural  History, 
and  on  Buffon's  Natural  History,  open  general  views  of  the 
philosophy  of  this  branch  of  science,  and  caution  against  a  blind 
and  exclusive  attachment  to  the  system  of  either  the  Swedish  or 
the  French  interpreter  of  nature. 

The  letters  on  moral  subjects  appear  to  me  to  possess  yet 
higher  interest,  and  they  inculcate  still  more  impressively  the 
free  employment  of  reason  in  the  investigation  of  truth.  That 
on  Strength  of  Character  details  the  result  of  his  own  experience 
of  life.  In  the  early  part  of  it,  he  says,  that  he  pleased  himself 
with  thinking  that  he  had  not  an  enemy  in  the  world ;  and  that 
in  fact  a  too  great  facility  in  giving  up  his  own  interest  where  it 
involved  points  of  contention,  and  the  habit  of  at  least  not  op- 
posing the  opinions  which  he  heard,  had  conciliated  for  him  the 
passive  regard  of  most  of  his  acquaintance.  But  that  no  sooner 
did  altered  views  and  greater  firmness  of  character  incite  him  to 
an  open  declaration  on  important  points,  than  he  found  that  he 
must  be  content  to  exchange  his  former  source  of  satisfaction  for 
the  esteem  of  a  few ;  and  notwithstanding  the  concern  which  he 
had  felt  from  the  estrangement  of  some  who  had  renounced  pri- 
vate friendship  with  him  on  public  grounds,  he  concludes  by  de- 
cidedly advising  his  son  not  to  be  intimidated  from  openly 
espouvivj;  the  cause  he  thinks  a  right  one,  by  the  apprehension 
of  any  man's  displeasure. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  99 

The  three  letters  On  the  Pursuit  of  Improvement,  On  the  In- 
equality of  Conditions,  and  On  the  Prevalence  of  Truth,  unfold 
his  views  respecting  the  deductions  to  be  made  from  the  present 
condition  of  mankind  relative  to  the  real  character  and  destiny 
of  the  species ;  and  the  hopes  to  be  entertained  of  a  progressive 
melioration  of  the  state  of  the  world.  These  are  among  his  best 
pieces  of  reasoning,  and  those  which  most  entitle  him  to  the  cha- 
racter of  a  philosopher ;  but  the  practical  wisdom  of  those  on 
Cheap  Pleasures  and  on  Independence,  in  which  the  writer  speaks 
with  all  the  authority  of  personal  experience,  has  perhaps  ob- 
tained for  them  the  suffrages  of  a  larger  class  of  readers ;  while 
that  on  Consolation  will  be  esteemed  by  all  who  knew  him  as  one 
of  the  most  precious  records  of  his  mind  and  heart. 

Of  the  remaining  letters  contained  in  this  volume,  nearly  the 
whole  are  referable  to  one  or  other  of  the  classes  already  indi- 
cated and  partake  the  same  characteristics ;  and  none  of  them 
appear  to  call  for  any  particular  remarks  except  that  on  the 
Choice  of  a  Wife.  In  this  piece,  the  author's  ideas  of  the  per- 
fection of  female  character  are  strongly  expressed  ;  and  I  wish 
particularly  to  invite  attention  to  them,  because  he  always  ap- 
peared to  me  the  sincerest  friend  of  the  female  sex  that  I  have 
ever  known.  After  stating  the  two  main  points  on  which  the 
happiness  to  be  expected  from  a  female  associate  in  life  must 
depend,  to  be, — "  her  qualifications  as  a  companion,  and  as  a 
helper  ;"  and  enforcing  this  idea  from  various  considerations,  he 
thus  concludes : 

"I  confess  myself  decidedly  of  the  opinion  of  those  who 
would  rather  form  the  two  sexes  to  a  resemblance  of  character, 
than  contrast  them.  Virtue,  wisdom,  presence  of  mind,  patience, 
vigour,  capacity,  application,  are  not  sexual  qualities  ;  they  be- 
long to  mankind, — to  all  who  have  duties  to  perform  and  evils  to' 
endure.  It  is  surely  a  most  degrading  idea  of  the  female  sex, 
that  they  must  owe  their  influence  to  trick  and  finesse,  to  coun- 
terfeit or  real  weakness.  They  are  too  essential  to  our  happi- 
ness to  need  such  arts  ;  too  much  of  the  pleasure  and  of  the  busi- 
ness of  the  world  depends  upon  them,  to  give  reason  for  appre- 
hension that  we  shall  cease  to  join  partnership  with  them.  Let 
them  aim  at  excelling  in  the  qualities  peculiarly  adapted  to  the 
parts  they  have  to  act,  and  they  may  be  excused  from  aifected 
languor  and  coquetry.  We  shall  not  think  them  less  amiable 
for  being  our  best  helpers." 


100  MEMOIR  OF 

To  this  I  may  add,  that  the  view  which  he  took  of  women  as 
the  companions,  contradistinguished  from  the  playthings  of  men, 
and  the  opinion  which  he  often  inculcated,  that  the  talent  of 
conversation  was  the  first  of  all  social  accomplishments,  led  him 
to  encourage  females  in  the  pursuits  of  every  kind  of  acquire- 
ment capable  of  contributing  to  the  enjoyments  of  cultivated 
society.  Education  indeed,  in  both  sexes  equally,  he  regarded 
as  the  process  of  preparing  a  human  being  to  fulfil  duties  and  to 
enjoy  and  impart  happiness ;  and  he  opposed,  with  respect  to 
both,  the  practice  of  occupying  a  large  portion  of  the  period  of 
instruction  in  the  acquisition  of  branches  of  learning  totally 
alien  from  what  were  likely  to  be  the  objects  and  pursuits  of 
maturer  life.  But  whatever  kind  of  knowledge  promised  to  be 
a. permanent  source  of  advantage  worldly  or  moral,  or  of  innocent 
and  respectable  amusement,  he  wished  to  be  freely  imparted  to 
women  as  well  as  men ;  nor  did  I  ever  hear  him  express  a  doubt 
of  their  capacity  for  excelling  in  any  branch  of  literature  or 
science.  He  loved  female  talent,  and  always  treated  its  posses- 
sors with  distinguished  respect  and  kindness. 

The  degree  of  freedom  in  thought  and  expression  assumed  in 
these  Letters,  appears  to  have  been,  on  the  whole,  not  uncon- 
genial to  the  feelings  of  the  great  body  of  readers ; — they  were 
received  with  general  favour,  and  a  second  edition  was  called  for 
within  the  year. 

It  has  already  been  observed,  that  Dr.  Aikin  had  early  dis- 
played a  fondness  for  topographical  pursuits.  This  taste  had 
led  him,  during  his  residence  at  Warrington,  to  issue  proposals 
for  a  History  of  Lancashire :  the  scheme  had  dropped  at  that 
time  for  want  of  sufficient  support  and  co-operation ;  but  the 
preparations  which  he  had  then  made  for  carrying  it  into  execu- 
tion recommended  and  facilitated  to  him  the  performance  of  a 
somewhat  similar  task  in  which  he  now  engaged.  This  was  a 
Description  of  the  country  from  thirty  to  forty  miles  round  Man- 
chester. The  materials  for  this  book  were  to  be  collected  by  Mr. 
Stockdale,  the  proprietor,  and  the  arrangement  of  them,  and  the 
composition  of  the  work,  were  alone  undertaken  by  Dr.  Aikin ; 
but  in  fact  it  was  from  his  exertions  and  the  communications  of 
his  personal  friends  in  that  part  of  the  country,  that  the  most 
valuable  portion  of  the  matter  proceeded  ;  without  which  the 
performance  would  have  been  defective  indeed.  This  work  ap- 
peared in  1795,  in  one  large  volume  quarto,  illustrated  with. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  101 

many  maps  and  plates.  The  local  knowledge  of  the  writer  has 
lent  great  clearness  and  animation  to  the  geographical  descrip- 
tion which  it  contains;  while  the  simple  elegance  of  the  style, 
the  good  sense  of  the  remarks,  and  the  absence  of  vulgar  preju- 
dices and  partialities,  strongly  distinguish  it,  as  a  whole,  among 
the  works  on  English  topography. 

"Employment  I  must  have,  or  I  should  die  of  thinking  in  a 
month,"  said  Dr.  Aikin  in  a  letter  to  a  friend  written  about  this 
time.  Such  was  the  force  of  his  honest  heart  aches,  during  the 
period  of  the  reign  of  terror  in  France  and  the  crusade  against 
all  free  principles  of  government  preached  up  by  Mr.  Burke  in 
England,  and  resounded  throughout  the  monarchies  of  Europe  ! 
For  himself  individually,  he  was  ever  prompt  to  own,  with  pious 
gratitude,  the  preponderance  of  enjoyment  in  his  lot  of  life ; — 
and  though  a  temper  the  reverse  of  sanguine  cut  him  off  from 
those  brilliant  anticipations  of  future  good  which  are  in  them- 
selves a  kind  of  bliss,  the  boundedness  of  his  wishes  and  a  mo- 
dest confidence  in  his  resources,  blunted  the  edge  of  worldly  dis- 
appointments, and  always  armed  him  against  despondency.  The 
declaration  in  question  appears  by  the  context  to  have  been 
employed  by  him  as  a  plea  for  occupying  in  literary  labours  the 
abundant  leisure  afforded  him  by  a  professional  progress  which 
promised  to  be  steady  rather  than  rapid  ;  and  which,  in  the  opi- 
nion of  some  of  his  friends,  might  be  impeded  by  his  avowed  at- 
tachment to  pursuits  perhaps  more  congenial  to  his  inclinations. 
In  fact,  his  pen  was  scarcely  ever  more  occupied,  or  on  a  greater 
variety  of  subjects,  than  during  the  year  1794. 

The  History  of  Manchester  employed  a  considerable  portion 
of  his  time  ;  and  besides  completing  this  work,  he  composed  a 
fourth  volume  of  Evenings  at  Home  and  a  critical  Essay  on  Arm- 
strong's Art  of  preserving  Health, — wrote  a  good  deal  for  the 
Memoirs  of  Science  and  the  Arts,  prepared  new  editions  of  his 
England  Delineated,  and  of  his  Letters,— wrote  a  life  of  his  old, 
respected  friend,  Dr.  Fothergill,  for  Dr.  Kippis's  new  edition  of 
the  Biographia  Britannica*,  and  selected  a  small  volume  of 
observations  in  natural  history,  under  the  title  of  the  Naturalises 
Calendar,  from  the  papers  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  White  of  Selborne; 
designed  as  a  sequel  to  that  most  delightful  miscellany  of  obser- 


*  Only  one  volume  of  this  edition  was  printed,  which  did  not  comprise  Pother- 
gill,  nnd  I  am  unable  to  recover  the  article 


102  MEMOIR  OF 

rations  on  different  parts  of  nature,  the  History  of  Selborne. 
Other  objects  of  his  attention  are  disclosed  in  the  following  ex- 
tracts from  his  letters  to  his  medical  friend.  After  lamenting 
"  the  neglect  which,  in  the  present  state  of  things,  must  fall  upon 
all  objects  of  general  utility ;  when  the  fate  of  a  fortress  in  Flan- 
ders occupies  the  public  attention  more  than  the  welfare  of  half 
the  world,  and  killing  ten  thousand  French  is  thought  of  more 
consequence  than  saving  ten  times  the  number  of  English,5' — he 
thus  proceeds : 

"Every  body  seems  to  agree  that  the  times  are  peculiarly  un- 
favourable to  literary  undertakings  of  all  kinds,  and  one  may  see 
that  even  those  which  occupy  a  good  deal  of  notice  for  a  few 
weeks,  are  soon  completely  forgotten.  T  do  not  find  that  the 
medical  world  are  at  present  occupied  in  any  particular  novel- 
ties. The  project  of  curing  diseases  by  artificial  airs  has  caused 
a  little  discussion,  but  does  not  seem  to  excite  much  expecta- 
tion. Animal  eleclricity  has  furnished  some  food  for  the  phy- 
siologists, but  I  believe  will  not  end  in  the  discovery  of  any  new 
law  of  nature.  Many  of  the  faculty  here  have  been  disposed  of 
by  appointments  to  military  service,  and  some  of  the  charitable 
institutions  have  of  course  had  vacancies,  but  none  worth  making 
a  stir  about.  Indeed  I  see  them  quitted  with  indifference  by 
persons  who  had  made  great  exertions  to  get  in.  For  myself,  I 
go  on  quietly  in  endeavouring  to  establish  a  professionl  reputa- 
tion among  those  who  compose  the  little  circle  of  my  connec- 
tions, and  I  am  well  content  to  wait  the  event  with  patience. 

"I  know  not  whether  you  have  heard  of  a  new  attack  upon 
the  prerogative  of  the  College  of  Physicians  meditated  by  some 
of  the  Licentiates.  The  idea  was  brought  out  some  time  ago  at 
a  meeting  of  a  society  of  the  body,  of  which  I  am  a  member,  and 
an  elaborate  paper  stating  the  progressive  usurpations  of  the  Col- 
lege, und  the  legal  grounds  of  resisting  them,  was  read,  and  made 
a  considerable  impression  upon  most  present.  It  was  deter- 
mined, previous  to  any  legal  attack,  to  state  the  matter  to  the 
College  in  a  civil  address,  claiming  our  right,  on  the  principles 
of  the  original  charters,  to  be  admitted  to  all  professional  honours 
on  due  examination. 

"It  seems  very  clear  that  the  idea  of  confining  the  right  of 
fellowship  to  graduates  of  our  universities  was  an  after  thought, 
and  is  incapable  of  being  supported  on  any  principles  of  equity 
or  propriety.  Seeing  the  thing  in  this  light,  I  have  not  scrupled 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  103 

to  join  my  name  to  the  remonstrants,  though  without  any  perso- 
nal views,  since  I  should  not  choose  to  go  like  a  school-boy  to  be 
examined  in  Greek  by  my  juniors. 

"I  have  no  expectation  that  the  College  will  concede, — for 
when  did  any  public  body  voluntarily  resign  the  fruits  of  their 
own  abuses  ?  And  if  it  comes  to  a  law  suit,  the  event  will  be 
very  dubious,  since  the  universities  will  doubtless  support  a  mo- 
nopoly in  which  they  are  most  of  all  interested.  But  I  think  it 
useful  now  and  then  to  cite  to  the  bar  of  reason  and  fair  argu- 
ment causes  which  have  nothing  better  than  power  to  support 
them.  This  is  the  only  way  in  which  the  weak  can  ever  prevail 
against  the  strong. 

"  I  know  not  with  what  eye  you  at  present  view  the  scenes 
going  on  in  the  world.  The  impression  they  make  on  me  is  a 
wish  to  arrive  at  a  perfect  apathy  respecting  the  concerns  of  that 
animal  called  Man,  any  further  than  as  they  involve  the  inter- 
ests of  my  friends ;  and  as  to  individuals,  I  have  my  favourites 
among  cats,  dogs,  and  canary  birds,  for  whose  sake  I  have  some 
regard  to  their  species.  And  certainly  I  know  among  those  ani- 
mals neither  tyrants  nor  slaves, — neither  blood  selling  princes 
nor  usurping  factions. — Really,  it  is  almost  loo  much  to  reflect 
on  !  God  bless  you,  and  give  you  more  tranquillity  of  mind  than 
I  possess !" 

The  contest  between  the  Licentiates  and  the  College  of  Phy- 
sicians, excited  a  keen  interest  in  the  mind  of  Dr.  Aikin;  which 
he  exhibited  by  active  exertions  in  behalf  of  the  body  to  which 
he  belonged.  Into  this  cause,  as  into  the  question  of  the  aboli- 
tion of  the  Test  Act,  he  entered  without  any  personal  interests 
whatever,  but  simply  from  that  hatred  of  every  thing  unfair  and 
inequitable  which  was  his  leading  principle  and  almost  his  ruling 
passion.  In  conformity  with  his  opinion  of  the  utility  of  citing- 
power  to  the  tribunal  of  reason,  he  afterwards  took  occasion,  in 
the  second  volume  of  his  Letters  to  a  Son,  thus  to  record  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  College,  as  an  exemplification  of  the  encroaching 
and  usurping  spirit  of  corporate  bodies. 

"  In  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  a  College  of  Physicians  was  con 
stituted  in  London  by  charter,  for  the  express  purpose  of  ex- 
amining and  admitting  applicants  duly  qualified  for  the  practice 
of  physic  in  the  metropolis,  and  excluding  and  interdicting  quacks 
and  empirics.  Some  of  the  first  members  of  this  college  were 
foreign  graduates ;  and  no  condition  of  having  received  thcvr 


104  MEMOIR  OF 

education  or  degress  at  any  particular  place  was  thought  of  with 
respect  to  them  or  their  successors ;  nor  was  any  distinction  of 
practitioners  into  different  classes  established,  but  all  profes- 
sional honours  were  left  open  to  every  physician  of  sufficient 
learning  and  good  morals.  In  process  of  time,  however,  an  in- 
novation was  introduced  of  distinguishing  the  physicians  of  Lon- 
don into  two  classes,  fellows  of  the  college  and  licentiates;  the 
former  possessing  all  the  collegiate  powers  and  emoluments,  the 
latter  having  simply  the  right  of  practising.  And  the  same  mo- 
nopolising spirit  produced  the  further  limitation,  that  no  one 
should  be  allowed  to  claim  admission  to  the  fellowship  of  the 
college,  who  was  not  a  graduate  of  Oxford  or  Cambridge.  Such 
is  the  state  of  things  at  the  present  day ;  and  this  absurd  and 
arrogant  exclusion  of  men  whose  learning  and  professional  skill 
may  be  inferior  to  those  of  none  of  their  competitors,  is  pertina- 
ciously maintained  by  a  body,  originally  instituted  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  the  public  good,  but  perverted  in  its  object  by  the 
mean  jealousy  and  selfishness  ever  attending  the  corporation 
spirit."* 

The  decision  of  the  Court  of  King's  Bench  in  favour  of  the 
by-laws  of  the  college,  by  which  the  claims  of  the  licentiates 
were  finally  quashed,  always  appeared  to  my  father  a  denial  of 
substantial  justice  ;  and  he  never  spoke  of  the  affair  without  mani- 
fest tokens  of  that  bitterness  of  soul  with  which  acts  of  wrong- 
fulness  and  oppression  are  contemplated  by  the  upright  and  noble 
minded. 

After  the  presentation  of  the  petition  of  the  licentiates  to  the 
college  for  the  restoration  of  their  rights,  to  which  the  name  of 
Dr.  Aikin  appeared  as  one  of  the  subscribers,  the  officers  of  that 
learned  corporation  were  pleased  to  refuse  him  the  privilege, 
which  he  had  previously  enjoyed,  of  borrowing  books  from  their 
library  to  assist  him  in  the  composition  of  his  Biographical  Me- 
moirs of  Medicine, — one  of  the  numerous  discouragements  which 
by  their  united  operation  proved  fatal  to  the  progress  of  the 
work ! 

The  following  letter  to  Dr.  Haygarth  is  dated  in  August,  1794: 

"  As  I  always  feel  a  pleasure  in  even  a  distant  communication 
with  one  whom  I  love,  1  do  not  delay  to  answer  your  last  call 


Letter  on  Party. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  105 

for  a  letter ;  yet  in  fact  I  have  very  few  materials  of  informa- 
tion to  make  out  one.  I  am  plodding  at  home  among  books  and 
papers,  and  the  world  glides  by  me,  not  unmarked  indeed,  but 
with  very  little  participation  of  mine  in  its  motions.  Clubs  and 
meetings  are  suspended  during  the  summer,  so  that  I  know  little 
of  what  is  the  present  object  of  interest  to  professional  and  lite- 
rary men, — except  the  universal  one,  politics. 

"  The  faculty  here,  as  far  as  I  can  observe,  enter  little  into 
speculations  that  are  at  all  abstracted  from  immediate  utility, 
and  particularly,  utility  to  themselves  ;  and  yet  surely  they  are 
not  at  all  less  curious  or  public  spirited  than  other  people.  But 
all  public  feelings  are  expended  upon  the  great  scenes  now  act- 
ing upon  the  theatre  of  the  world,  and  private  concerns  are  pur- 
sued with  a  view  to  emolument  solely. 

"  The  town  is  very  full  of  reports  concerning  the  destruction 
of  Robespierre  and  his  faction.  The  aiain  point,  I  suppose,  is 
true,  though  probably  many  of  the  current  circumstances  are 
mere  fabrication.  Whether  this  will  or  will  not  have  much  effect 
on  the  present  state  of  things,  I  am  unable  even  to  guess.  I  should 
rather  suppose  that  the  causes  of  the  present  wonderful  motus 
animorum  throughout  Europe  lie  deeper  than  to  be  quieted  by  the 
death  01  a  few  individuals.  I  am  no  believer  in  prophecies,  and 
do  not  hunt  for  future  events  in  the  Revelations;  but  it  does  ap- 
pear to  me  from  a  cool  induction  of  numerous  particulars,  that 
the  critical  period  is  arrived  for  several  of  the  things  which 
have  long  subsisted  in  the  world.  Whether  they  will  survive 
the  crisis,  and  whether  the  state  of  mankind  will  be  made  better 
or  worse  in  the  issue,  I  am  unable  to  divine.  I  suppose  you 
continue  your  confidence  in  the  soundness  of  the  old  ship  Bri- 
tannia, and  the  skill  of  her  pilot.  To  say  the  truth,  I  scarcely 
know  a  stouter  ship  in  Europe,  and  I  can  as  yet  sleep  secure  in. 
her.  Yet  she  is  certainly  much  worm-eaten  and  rather  overload- 
ed. I  wish  she  was  at  least  well  in  port." 

All  the  concerns,  medical,  literary  and  domestic,  of  this  busy 
year  had  prospered ;  the  talents  of  Dr.  Aikin  began  to  be  justly 
appreciated,  not  only  by  his  friends  and  by  a  rather  extensive 
circle  of  acquaintance,  but  by  the  public;  and  it  was  in  the  fol- 
lowing strain  of  content  and  cheerfulness  that  he  addressed  his 
beloved  friend  near  the  commencement  of  the  year  1795  : 

"  I  should  not  have  suffered  so  much  of  the  new  year  to  elapse 
without  expressing  to  my  very  dear  friend  every  kind  wish  for 
O 


106  MEMOIR  OF 

him  and  his  during  the  course  of  it,  had  I  not  been  uncommonly 
busy  with  my  pen  in  various  ways  for  some  time  past.  But  hav- 
ing now  cleared  my  ground,  I  sit  down  with  pleasure  to  con- 
verse a  little  on  private  and  public  topics  with  one  to  whom  I 
have  so  long  been  accustomed  to  communicate  every  sentiment 
of  my  heart. 

"  The  year  has  opened  to  me  with  favourable  auspices,  and  I 

have  never  felt  more  easy  in  my  concerns  than  at  present • 

As  every  thing  in  this  world  is  relative,  I  think  myself  almost 
rich  enough,  and  I  feel  an  independence  which  perhaps  an  ap- 
parently more  prosperous  condition  would  not  have  afforded. 
My  children  are  all  promising  ;  the  two  eldest  in  useful  sta- 
tions, and  nearly  able  to  take  care  of  themselves.  In  short,  / 
have  no  need  to  look  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  for  a  con- 
tent which  I  have  so  much  reason  to  acknowledge  here.  Oh,  if, 
in  the  present  state  of  things,  one  circumstanced  as  I  am  should 
look  more  towards  the  goods  he  has  not  than  those  he  has,  what 
moral  benefit  can  be  expected  from  the  home  lessons  which  every 
day  is  bringing  forth  ! 

"  It  is  almost  impossible  at  this  crisis  to  write  to  a  friend  with- 
out saying  something  about  public  matters.  Indeed,  they  may 
very  soon  become  the  most  important  of  private  concern's  to  us 
also.  All  other  subjects  are  merged  in  them ;  and  science  and 
literature  are  flat  and  subordinate  topics  in  all  conversations.  I 
think  I  can  view  the  conduct  of  the  different  parties  with  toler- 
able moderation,  and  perhaps  the  great  impending  events  must 
have  happened  whoever  had  possession  of  the  helm.  Great 
events  may  seem  to  have  trifling  causes,  but  in  fact,  the  cause 
must  be  adequate  to  the  effect ;  and  who  does  not  see  that  the 
progress  of  new  opinions  and  manners  could  not  but  at  length 
issue  in  a  terrible  conflict  with  the  old  ?  Where  will  it  stop  ?  Is 
there  any  moral  or  natural  reason  to  suppose  that  this  island  can 
remain  stationary  in  the  midst  of  a  changing  world,  connected, 
too,  as  she  is  with  that  world,  and  dependent  upon  it  for  the  con- 
tinuance of  a  system  of  commerce  now  apparently  essential  to 
her  being?  I  would  not  indulge  gloomy  reflections, — indeed  I 
feel  somewhat  unaccountably  callous  (like  my  neighbours)  to  ap- 
proaching evils;  but  can  we  find  any  solid  ground  of  hope  and 
comfort?  If  you  have  any  to  suggest,  pray  communicate  it  to 
me.  1  assure  you  I  am  well  <jis<.  sed  to  think  as  favourably  of 
futurity  as  I  possibly  can.  Every  body  here  gives  up  Holland, 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  107 

and  she  will  not  only,  in  the  hands  of  the  French,  cease  to  be  an 
ally,  but  will  be  converted  into  a  bitter  foe.  And  where  are  our 
friends  ?  Surely  it  is  an  awful  crisis  !  such  an  one  as  neither  we 
nor  our  fathers  ever  knew. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  may  you  and  yours  enjoy  all  those  domes- 
tic  blessings  which  are  accumulated  around  you  ;  and  may  we, 
in  reciprocal  friendship  and  internal  tranquillity,  find  all  possi- 
ble support  under  the  vicissitudes  of  mortal  things!" 

In  the  month  of  May  he  again  communicates  his  sentiments  to 
his  friend,  thus : 

"  I  should  not  have  suffered  your  last  very  kind  letter  to  re- 
main unanswered,  had  I  not  lately  had  so  much  employment  for 
my  pen,  especially  in  Stockdale's  .Account  of  Manchester,  (now 
nearly  finished,  and  in  which  you,  my  friend,  are  not  entirely  un  j 
recorded,)  that  extra  writing  became  an  irksome  task. 

"  You  suppose  that  the  sentiments  on  public  affairs  contained 
in  your  former  letter  did  not  please  me.  I  had  certainly  no  right 
to  be  displeased  with  them,  although  they  might  not  perfectly  co- 
incide with  my  own ;  and  as  to  the  advice  conveyed  in  them,  it 
was  impossible  for  me  to  take  it  otherwise  than  as  it  was  meant. 
It  is  true,  I  continue  to  think  that  the  possible  hazards  attending 
the  American  funds  are  compensated  by  their  better  interest, 
and  by  the  fundamental  stability  which  I  believe  them  to  pos- 
sess ;  nor  can  I  think  so  ill  of  the  principles  of  their  government 
and  their  national  character,  as  that,  in  the  event  of  a  war,  they 
would  take  a  step  to  violate  their  faith  to  individuals  which  the 
worst  of  the  old  governments  in  Europe  have  never  done.  !*>ome 
difficulty  in  getting  the  interest  during  that  period  is  all  I  should 
apprehend. 

"  With  regard  to  the  present  aspect  of  affairs  at  home,  I  be- 
lieve we  do  not  much  differ  in  our  opinions  as  to  matter  of  fact, 
however  we  may  as  to  causes.  I  fully  agree  with  you  in  expect- 
ing no  mischief  from  sedition  and  jacobinism  in  this  country.  The 
character  of  the  nation  has  fully  shown  itself.  None  can  be  more 
loyal,  more  attached  to  ancient  institutions,  more  sensible  that 
it  has  a  great  deal  to  lose.  My  apprehensions  about  Ireland  are 
less  than  yours.  I  rely  on  a  system  of  corruption  which  has  per- 
vaded all  ranks  and  orders  in  that  country,  for  keeping  all  quiet. 
They  may  bluster  and  talk  large,  and  even  break  out  in  the  re- 
moter parts  into  acts  of  atrocity,  but  their  chains  are  indisso- 
luble. 


108  MEMOIR  OF 

«f  For  all  this,  the  prospect  of  things  does  not  quite  please  me. 
I  see  irresistible  power,  under  the  direction,  as  I  think,  of  little 
wisdom  or  honesty,  involving  us  in  difficulties  and  loading  us 
with  burthens  which  in  the  end  must  be  sensibly  felt,  and  that  not 
by  politicians  and  theorists  alone.  In  short,  I  seriously  fear  that 
it  will  become  a  country  in  which  a  man  of  moderate  resources, 
and  with  a  family  to  provide  for,  cannot  live,  and  then  what  will 
signify  debating  about  our  constitution  ?  When  peace  returns, 
commerce  will  of  course  revive,  and  possibly  to  a  very  unexpect- 
ed degree,  as  after  the  American  war.  But  if  taxes  and  dear- 
ness  of  living  more  than  keep  pace  with  it,  what  can  we  do,  es- 
pecially those  of  us  who  are  out  of  trade,  but  sink,  sink?  These 
are  forbodings  which,  without  consulting  Brothers  or  Halhed» 
enter  my  mind,  and,  if  I  had  not  other  things  to  think  of,  would 
make  me  pass  mauy  weary  hours.  And  can  you,  my  friend,  sug- 
gest any  considerations  which  will  make  these  dangers  appear 
chimerical  ? 

"  It  gives  me  pleasure  that  a  good  report  of  my  professional 
progress  has  reached  you,  as  that  may  be  a  prelude  to  its  verifi- 
cation. The  truth  is,  I  have  reason  to  hope  that  my  medical  cha- 
racter does  not  lose  on  trial,  yet  I  have  not  much  hitherto  to 
boast  of.  The  business  of  pushing  into  practice  here  is  an  affair 
so  contrary  to  my  nature  and  habits,  that  I  am  convinced  I  shall 
ever  move  in  a  small  circle.  The  necessary  expense  of  making  a 
figure  is  a  serious  matter.  A  physician  well  introduced  and  con- 
nected told  me  the  other  day,  that  out  of  a  practice  of  500/.  he 
was  obliged  to  pay  200/.  for  his  carriage,  which  was  indispensa- 
bly necessary  to  him.  I  shall  never  envy  him  his  carriage  the 
worst  day  in  the  year.  My  bnnkftp.l/.f.rs  will  never  expect  me  to 
visit  them  in  my  chariot. 

"I  have  lately  had  the  honour  of  being  made  a  fellow  of  the 
Li  mi  a*  an  Society,  and  also  of  the  Medical  Society  in  Bolt-Court 
(Letsom's)  ;  but  as  to  this  last,  I  am  in  some  doubt  if  I  shall  as- 
sume my  blushing  honours/' 

Besides  the  completion  of  the  History  of  Manchester  and  the 
surrounding  country,  which  appeared  in  June,  1795,  the  literary- 
labours  of  Dr.  Aikin  during  this  year  consisted  of  the  fifth  and 
sixth  volumes  of  Evenings  at  Home,  and  an  Essay  on  the  Poems 
of  Green,  author  of  the  Spleen,  (annexed).  No  one,  I  believe,  of 
all  his  critical  pieces  was  composed  with  greater  pleasure  in  his 
subject  than  this.  The  principal  work  of  this  truly  original  wri- 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  109 

ter,  little  adapted  to  the  mere  lover  of  elegant  verse,  had  for  him 
a  charm  which  grew  upon  the  intimacy  of  repeated  perusals. 
While  the  profusion  of  uncommon  thoughts  and  witty  allusions 
with  which  it  is  studded  amused  his  fancy,  the  pervading  spirit 
of  the  whole  had  much  in  it  to  attract  his  sympathetic  approba- 
tion. It  is  that  of  a  philosophy  somewhat  on  the  Horatian 
model,  in  which  habitual  serenity  of  mind  is  sought  by  a  renun- 
ciation of  the  common  objects  of  ambition,  by  temperate  enjoy- 
ments and  modest  wishes,  by  the  indulgence  of  a  vein  of  free 
speculation,  and  by  a  general  indifference  and  neutrality  in  the 
disputes  which  chiefly  agitate  the  world ; — with  an  honourable 
exception  however  for 

" the  righteous  cause 

Of  a  free  press  and  equal  laws." 

None  of  the  beauties  of  the  author  appear  to  have  escaped  the  eye 
of  the  critic ;  and  the  easy  but  clear  and  lively  manner  in  which 
they  are  unfolded  to  the  reader  peculiarly  recommends  the  pe- 
rusal of  the  entire  piece. 

The  repute  which  the  pen  of  Dr.  Aikin  had  gained  with  the 
public,  and  the  great  extension  of  his  connections  among  men 
of  letters  since  his  residence  in  London,  now  caused  literary  pro- 
posals to  flow  in  upon  him  on  all  sides,  and  the  year  1796  was 
the  date  of  the  commencement  of  more  than  one  of  his  principal 
undertakings.  The  earliest  of  these  was  the  editorship  of  the 
Monthly  Magazine,  his  connection  with  which  work  peculiar 
circumstances  render  it  necessary  to  state  fully  as  well  as  accu- 
rately. 

Almost  from  the  commencement  of  that  political  division  in 
this  country  to  which  the  French  revolution  had  given  rise,  Dr. 
Aikin  had  been  of  opinion  that  the  establishment  of  a  periodical 
literary  miscellany  characterised  by  a  spirit  of  free  inquiry 
and  a  general  liberality  of  sentiment,  was  an  object  highly  de- 
sirable, on  account  of  the  many  important  services  which  such  a 
work  might  be  made  to  render  to  the  best  interests  of  society. 
In  his  letters  to  Mrs.  Barbauld  during  the  latter  years  of  his 
residence  at  Yarmouth,  this  topic  was  frequently  recurred  to. 
His  remoteness  from  London  necessarily  precluded  at  that  time 
his  proposing  himself  for  the  conductor  ot  such  a  design;  but  he 
repeatedly  mentioned  that  he  was  ready  to  become  a  principal 
contributor  to  it ;  and  that  he  had  already  by  him  several  pieces, 


110  MEMOIR  OF 

both  of  verse  and  prose,  which  he  would  willingly  dispose  of  in 
this  manner.  No  one  however  then  appeared  with  spirit  to  set 
it  on  foot,  though  many  had  expressed  similar  wishes  and  strong 
persuasion  that  a  work  of  this  nature  would  succeed. 

After  his  removal  to  London,  so  many  fresh  objects  of  inter- 
est opened  upon  him,  that  I  imagine  he  ceased  to  occupy  him- 
self with  the  idea  which  had  been  so  long  a  favourite ;  but  when 
the  plan  of  the  Monthly  Magazine  was  disclosed  to  him  by  its 
projector,  all  his  ardour  on  the  subject  revived  ;  he  closed  im- 
mediately with  the  proposal  which  was  made  him,  and  exerted 
his  utmost  zeal  and  diligence  in  maturing  the  plan  and  provid- 
ing for  its  due  execution. 

The  part  which  he  took  was  that  of  literary  editor.  All  the 
original  correspondence  came  under  his  inspection  ;  articles  were 
inserted  or  rejected  according  to  his  judgment,  and  the  proof 
sheets  underwent  his  revision.  That  portion  of  the  work  which 
consisted  of  compilation  from  newspapers,  as  the  provincial  oc- 
currences and  other  articles  of  intelligence,  was  under  the  im- 
mediate direction  of  the  proprietor;  the  account  of  public  affairs 
also  was  printed  without  any  participation  of  Dr.  Aikin's.  To 
provide  materials  for  the  Magazine  was  not  strictly  a  part  of  his 
compact; — but  the  honourable  anxiety  which  he  always  felt  to 
perform  every  task  committed  to  him  in  the  best  manner  possi- 
ble, and  to  promote  the  pleasure  and  instruction  of  the  public  to 
the  utmost  of  his  ability,  prompted  him,  in  this,  as  in  many  other 
instances,  to  go  far  beyond  the  letter  of  his  engagement;  and  be- 
sides enriching  it  to  a  great  extent  with  his  own  pieces,  he  was 
diligent  in  his  applications  to  the  literary  characters  with  whom 
he  was  connected  by  the  ties  of  friendship ;  and  by  means  prin- 
cipally of  their  contributions  the  new  Magazine  assumed  a  rank 
in  letters  to  which  only  one  of  its  predecessors  had  ever  ven- 
tured to  aspire. 

On  the  whole,  this  editorship,  though  certainly  not  unattended 
with  causes  of  chagrin,  was  the  source  of  considerable  enjoy- 
ment to  him.  It  brought  him  into  habits  of  occasional  inter- 
course with  a  great  variety  of  characters,  who  often  exhibited 
themselves  in  an  instructive  or  amusing  point  of  view  ; — it  sup- 
plied him  with  a  fund  of  intelligence  on  all  the  current  topics  of 
the  time,  which  enabled  him  to  turn  his  own  speculations  to  sub- 
jects of  general  utility  and  interest;  and,  what  he  was  far  from 
valuing  the  least,  it  afforded  him  frequent  opportunities  of  be- 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  HI 

coming  the  friend  and  counsellor  of  youthful  genius,  of  bringing 
modest  talent  into  notice,  and  of  pointing  out  resources  to  merit 
in  distress. 

Towards  the  conclusion  of  the  year,  Dr.  Aikin,  having  secur- 
ed as  his  coadjutor  his  beloved  friend  Dr.  Enfield,  engaged  in 
the  composition  of  his  great  work,  the  General  Biography  ;  which 
employed  the  larger  portion  of  his  time  during  a  period  of  nine- 
teen years,  and  extended  to  ten  volumes  quarto. 

The  design  was  not  originally  his  own ;  but  none  could  have 
coincided  more  happily  with  his  talents,  his  acquirements,  or  the 
habits  of  his  mind. 

An  author  will  seldom  find  cause  to  regret  the  time  and  la- 
bour which  he  may  have  bestowed  upon  an  abortive  or  unsuccess- 
ful work,  provided  he  has  applied  to  it,  during  its  progress,  the 
full  force  of  his  mind.  Such  essays  serve  to  root  deeply  in  the 
mind  ideas  which  afterwards  spring  up  with  renewed  vigour  and 
beauty,  and  in  a  more  propitious  season  mature  their  fruits.  Thus 
it  proved  in  the  instance  before  us. — The  efforts  which  my  father 
had  bestowed  upon  the  composition  of  his  Biographical  Memoirs 
of  Medicine,  had  obliged  him  to  meditate  long  and  deeply  on  the 
subject  of  biographical  writing  in  general ; — to  measure  the  posi- 
tive and  relative  merits  of  the  characters  who  came  before  him 
by  a  scale  in  his  own  mind ;  and  to  learn  the  art  of  conveying, 
by  a  few  spirited  strokes,  a  clear  and  lively  image  of  the  distinc- 
tive features  of  every  individual.  What  he  had  thus  practised 
with  respect  to  the  professors  of  a  single  art  in  one  country  alone, 
he  now  undertook  to  exercise  on  the  eminent  of  many  classes 
in  all  ages  and  countries. 

In  the  preface  to  the  work,  which  was  composed  with  uncom- 
mon care  and  attention,  he  has  given  a  distinct  summary  of  his 
own  views  of  the  subject ;  which  he  will  be  found  unswervingly 
to  have  followed  ;  in  fact,  the  principles  upon  which  it  is  found- 
ed are  so  analogous  to  his  settled  habits  of  judging  and  feeling, 
that  to  those  who  knew  him  intimately,  this  piece  will  appear  not 
so  much  a  prospectus  of  a  book  as  an  ingenuous  exposition  of  his 
own  standard  of  human  greatness ;  and  as  such  I  shall  extract 
some  passages  from  it*.  After  observing  that  selection,  compass 


*  Rudiments  of  the  same  ideas  appear  in  a  dialogue  contained  in  Evenings  ((( 
Ho  me;,  entitled  °  Great  Mm"     Brindley  is  made  an  example  in  both  pieces. 


112  MEMOIR  OF 

and  arrangement,  are  the  three  points  chiefly  to  be  considered 
in  a  biographical  dictionary,  and  briefly  stating,  under  the  last 
head,  the  advantages  of  an  alphabetical  order,  he  thus  proceeds: 

«'  Selection  is  the  most  important  point,  and  at  the  same  time 

the  most  difficult  to  adjust,  in  a  design  of  this  nature In  the 

long  lapse  of  ages,  from  the  first  records  of  history,  the  names  of 
those  who  have  left  behind  them  some  memorials  of  their  exis- 
tence have  become  so  numerous,  that  to  give  an  account,  however 
slight,  of  every  person  who  has  obtained  temporary  distinction 
in  every  walk  of  life,  would  foil  the  industry  of  any  writer,  as 
well  as  the  patience  of  any  reader.  Fame,  or  celebrity,  is  the 
grand  principle  upon  which  the  choice  of  subjects  for  a  general 
biography  must  be  founded  ;  for  this,  on  the  whole,  will  be 
found  to  coincide  with  the  two  chief  reasons  that  make  us  desi- 
rous of  information  concerning  an  individual, — curiosity,  and 
the  desire  of  enlarging  our  knowledge  of  mankind.  But  under 
the  general  notion  of  celebrity  many  subordinate  considerations 
arise 

"  The  great  affairs  of  the  world  are  frequently  conducted  by 
persons  who  have  no  other  title  to  distinction  than  merely  as 
they  are  associated  with  these  affairs.  With  abilities  not  at  all 
superior  to  those  of  a  clerk  in  an  office,  or  a  subaltern  in  a  regi- 
ment, the  civil  and  military  concerns  of  great  nations  are  often 
managed  according  to  a  regular  routine,  by  men  whom  the 
chance  of  birth  alone  has  elevated  to  high  stations.  Such  cha- 
racters appear  in  history  with  a  consequence  not  really  belong- 
ing to  them  ;  and  it  seems  the  duty  of  a  biographer  in  these  cases 
to  detach  the  man  from  his  station,  and  either  entirely  to  omit, 
or  reduce  to  a  very  slight  notice,  the  memorial  of  one  whose  per- 
sonal qualities  had  no  real  influence  over  the  events  of  his  age, 
and  afford  nothing  to  admire  or  imitate 

"  That  interesting  class  which  lays  claim  to  the  remembrance 
of  posterity  on  account  of  distinction  in  art,  science,  or  litera- 
ture, depending  solely  on  personal  qualifications  and  commonly 
acting  individually,  might  seem  to  admit  of  an  easier  estimate 
of  relative  merit  than  the  preceding.  But  the  number  of  claim- 
ants is  so  great,  that  in  the  impossibility  of  commemorating  all, 
many  names  must  be  rejected  which  on  the  first  glance  may 
seem  as  worthy  of  insertion  as  their  preferred  rivals.  The  diffi- 
cult work  of  selection  ought  in  these  cases  to  be  regulated  by  some 
fixed  principles ;  and  the  circumstances  which  appear  most 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  113 

worthy  of  guiding  the  decision,  are  those  of  invention  and  im- 
provement. 

"None  appear  to  have  a  more  decisive  claim  to  biographical 
notice  than  inventors  ;  including  in  the  class  all  who,  by  the 
exercise  of  their  faculties  in  an  original  path,  have  durably 
added  to  the  stock  of  valuable  products  of  human  skill  and  in- 
genuity. Perhaps,  in  the  history  of  the  human  mind  there  is 
nothing  more  curious  than  to  trace  the  operations  of  an  inventive 
talent  working  its  way,  often  without  any  foreign  aid,  and  de- 
riving from  its  own  resources  the  means  of  overcoming  the  suc- 
cessive difficulties  which  thwart  its  progress.  It  is  in  such  a 
process  that  the  distinguishing  powers  bestowed  upon  man  are 
most  surprisingly  exerted,  and  that  the  superiority  of  one  indi- 
vidual over  the  common  mass  is  most  luminously  displayed. 
How  much  higher,  as  an  intellectual  being,  does  a  Brindley 
rank,  directing  the  complex  machinery  of  a  canal,  which  he  him- 
self has  invented,  than  an  Alexander  at  the  head  of  his  army  ! 
A  Newton,  who  employed  the  most  exquisite  powers  of  inven- 
tion on  the  sublimest  objects,  has  attained  a  point  in  the  scale 
of  mental  pre-eminence,  which  perhaps  no  known  mortal  ever 
surpassed. 

"  Between  invention  and  improvement  no  precise  line  can  be 
drawn.  In  reality,  almost  all  the  great  discoveries  in  art  or  science 
have  arrived  at  perfection  through  the  gradual  advances  given  to 
them  by  successive  improvers,  who  have  exercised  a  greater  or 
less  degree  of  invention  on  the  subject.  When  the  addition  made 
lias  been  something  considerable,  the  improver  seems  to  have  a 

just  title  to  have  his  name  perpetuated The  attainment 

of  uncommon  excellence  in  any  particular  walk,  though  not  at- 
tended with  what  can  strictly  be  called  improvement,  may  be 
regarded  as  a  just  cause  for  commemoration;  since  it  implies  a 
vigorous  exertion  of  the  faculties,  and  affords  animating  exam- 
ples of  the  power  of  effecting  extraordinary  things.  Many  pain- 
ters, sculptors,  musicians,  and  other  artists  of  high  reputation, 
come  under  this  head 

"  The  class  known  by  the  general  term  of  writers  has  present- 
ed to  us  difficulties  of  selection  more  embarrassing  than  any  of 
those  hitherto  mentioned.  It  comprehends  many  whose  claims 
on  the  biographer  are  surpassed  by  none ;  for  where  is  the  cele- 
brity which  takes  place  of  a  Homer  and  Virgil,  a  Livy  and  Thu- 
cydides,  a  Swift  and  Voltaire  ?  But  from  such  great  names 
P 


114  MEMOIR  OF 

there  are  all  the  shades  of  literary  distinction  down  to  the  au- 
thor of  a  pamphlet ;  and  where  must  the  line  be  drawn  ? 

"  Two  other  circumstances  by  which  selection  may  be  affect 
ed  are,  country  and  age.  We  have  seen  no  general  biographical 
work  which  is  free  from  a  decided  stamp  of  nationality  ;  that  is, 
which  does  not  include  a  greater  number  of  names  of  natives  of 
the  country  in  which  they  were  composed,  than  the  fair  propor- 
tion of  relative  fame  and  excellence  can  justify.  Perhaps  this 
fault  is  in  some  measure  excusable,  on  account  of  the  superior 
interest  taken  by  all  nations  in  excellence  of  their  own  growth ; 
and  if  readers  are  gratified  by  such  deference  to  their  feelings, 
writers  will  not  fail  to  comply  with  their  wishes.  We  do  not 
pretend  to  have  made  no  sacrifices  of  this  sort;  but  being  sensi 
ble  that  disproportion  is  a  real  blemish  in  a  work,  and  that  in 
this  instance  it  partakes  of  the  nature  of  injustice,  we  hope  we 
shall  not  be  found  to  have  exceeded  the  bounds  of  moderation  in 
this  particular.  We  have  most  sedulously  endeavoured  to  avoid 
the  more  serious  fault,  of  awarding  to  our  countrymen  individu- 
ally, more  than  their  due  share  of  merit  in  comparison  with 
foreign  competitors.  In  this  point  we  would  be  truly  citizens 
of  the  world. 

"The  circumstances  ot  age  or  period  in  which  the  claimants 
have  lived,  has  an  operation  similar  to  that  of  country.  We  are 
much  more  impressed  with  the  relative  consequences  of  persons 
who  have  trod  the  stage  of  life  within  our  own  memory,  than 
those  whose  scene  of  action  has  long  been  closed,  though  equally 
eminent  in  their  day.  Of  course,  curiosity  is  more  active  re- 
specting the  former;  and  to  this  natural  predilection  it  may  be 
proper  for  the  biographer  to  pay  some  deference,  provided  he 
does  not  too  much  infringe  the  principle  of  equitable  proportion, 
which  ought  essentially  to  regulate  a  work,  professing  to  com- 
prehend every  age  of  the  world  as  well  as  every  country." 

With  respect  to  the  compass  of  the  work,  he  admits  that  bio- 
graphy will  bear  to  be  written  much  at  large,  and  in  judicious 
hands  is  often  the  more  entertaining  and  instructive  the  more  it 
is  minute;  and  that  in  a  plan  so  extensive  as  this,  characteristic 
sketches  can  alone  be  given  ;  but  he  expresses  a  hope  that  they 
will  be  found  to  have  dismissed  few  characters  of  real  eminence 
"  without  fully  answering  the  leading  biographical  questions, 
What  was  he  ?  What  did  he  ?  His  moral  arid  intellectual  quali- 
ties, the  principal  events  of  his  life,  his  relative  merit  in  the 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  115 

department  he  occupied,  and  especially  the  manner  in  which  he 
was  fifst  formed  to  his  art  or  profession,  with  the  gradations  by 
which  he  rose  to  excellence,  have  engaged  our  attentive  inqui- 
ries, and  we  have  attempted  to  develop  them  with  all  the  accu- 
racy that  conciseness  would  allow.*' 

"  If,"  he  adds,  "  we  have  faithfully  observed  the  rules  of  com- 
position above  suggested,  it  is  evident  we  cannot  have  been  mere 
copyists  or  translators  ;  since  we  may  venture  to  assert,  that  no 
model  exists  of  a  work  of  this  species,  executed  with  any  degree 
of  uniformity,  upon  such  principles.  For  our  materials,  it  is  true, 
we  must  in  general  have  been  indebted  to  the  researches  of  for- 
mer historians  and  biographers But,  in  melting  down  the 

substance  of  different  narrations  into  one,  in  proportioning  the 
several  parts,  in  marking  out  the  characteristic  features  of  the 
portrait,  and  in  deducing  suitable  lessons  and  examples  of  human 
life,  we  have  freely  exercised  our  own  judgments,  and  have  as-- 
pired,  at  least,  to  the  rank  of  original  writers.'* 

In  the  first  division  of  the  articles  of  the  General  Biography, 
the  divines,  metaphysicians,  philosophers,  natural  and  moral,  and 
mathematicians  were  assigned  to  Dr.  Enfield,  and  all  the  other 
classes  were  undertaken  by  Dr.  Aikin ;  but  the  unfortunate  event 
of  Dr.  Enfield's  death  before  the  completion  of  the  first  volume, 
compelled  my  father  for  a  time  to  extend  his  labours.  The  whole 
of  the  letter  C,  excepting  the  mathematical  articles,  and  a  few  of 
the  authorities  for  which  existed  only  in  German  and  the  other 
languages  of  the  North  of  Europe,  was  written  by  him  ;  but  after- 
wards the  late  Dr.  Thomas  Morgan  succeeded  to  nearly  the  whole 
of  Dr.  Enfield's  department. 

The  copious  extracts  just  given  from  a  preface,  all  the  promises 
of  which  were,  on  my  father's  part  at  least,  so  punctually  fulfilled, 
may  suffice  as  a  general  account  of  the  nature  of  a  work  on  which 
the  opinions  both  of  critics  and  readers  have  long  since  been  pro- 
nounced ;  but  a  few  particulars  respecting  the  modes  of  study 
adopted  by  him  during  the  course  of  his  twenty  years'  task,  and 
the  effects  upon  his  own  mind  of  this  application  of  his  powers, 
may  be  thought  no  uninteresting  or  uninstructive  part  of  his  per- 
sonal history. 

It  had  been  my  father's  previous  practice  to  write  over  twice, 
and  sometimes  oftener,  whatever  he  destined  for  the  press  ;  and 
with  regard  to  his  works  in  general,  that  respect  for  the  public, 


116  MEMOIR  OF 

which  he  always  considered  as  one  of  the  most  indispensable  of 
literary  duties,  led  him  to  observe  this  custom  to  the  end ';  but, 
\vith  respect  to  his  biographical  articles,  he  soon  discovered  this 
laborious  process  to  be  unnecessary,  and  in  fact  scarcely  practi- 
cable. Such,  however,  \vas  his  dread  of  suffering  any  marks  of 
haste,  either  in  style  or  malter,  to  escape  him,  that  through  the 
whole  course  of  so  long  a  work  he  persevered  in  the  constant  ob- 
servance of  another  of  his  literary  habits,  which  indicated  the 
modest  no  less  than  the  diligent  composer.  This  was,  never  to 
commit  a  single  page  to  the  printer  without  causing  it  to  be  pre- 
viously read  aloud  by  one  of  his  family  in  his  own  presence,  and 
in  that  of  any  other  members  of  the  domestic  circle  who  could 
be  conveniently  assembled.  During  these  readings  he  listened 
with  close  attention,  often  mentioned  the  alterations  which  then 
suggested  themselves  to  his  mind,  or  the  new  ideas  which  struck 
him  ;  and  not  only  permitted,  but  invited  and  encouraged,  the 
freest  strictures  even  from  the  youngest  and  most  unskilful  of 
those  whom  he  was  pleased  to  call  his  household  critics  ;  good 
humouredly  citing  the  story  of  Moliere's  submitting  all  his  pieces 
to  the  judgment  of  his  old  woman,  as  a  proof  that  the  honest  im- 
pressions of  any  hearer  or  reader,  were  worth  some  attention. 
His  principal  object,  however,  in  following  this  method  was,  to 
preserve  his  style  from  the  fault  which  most  of  all  offended  him 
in  every  kind  of  writing, — obscurity ;  a  fault  which  many  in- 
stances prove  that  men  of  the  most  sagacious  minds  are  frequent- 
ly unable  to  detect  in  their  own  compositions  except  by  experi- 
ment of  their  effect  upon  others.  The  statement  of  Gibbon,  that 
he  had  never  communicated  to  a  single  person  any  part  of  the 
manuscript  of  his  history,  was,  I  remember,  particularly  noted 
by  my  father  on  reading  it,  as  a  fact  which  went  far  in  account- 
ing for  the  perseverance  of  so  able  a  writer  in  that  enigmatical 
mode  of  expression  which  became  the  characteristic  blemish  of 
his  manner. 

How  far  the  clearness  of  his  own  style,  which  is  so  perfect  that 
I  believe  no  one  over  found  it  necessary  to  read  a  sentence  of 
his  a  second  time  to  find  the  meaning,  is  to  be  attributed  to  the 
occasional  suggestions  of  others,  1  find  it  difficult  to  decide ;  as 
the  distinctness  of  his  ideas,  and  his  entire  freedom  from  affecta- 
tion, wore  very  likely  of  themselves  to  have  ensured  to  him  this 
advantage  ;  but  ,  can  spoak  with  all  the  certainty  of  personal  ex- 
perience to  the  pleasures  and  benefits  derived  to  his  family  from 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  117 

his  social  and  communicative  habits  of  study.  From  witnessing 
so  closely  the  progress  of  his  various  works,  they  insensibly  ac- 
quired a  lively  interest  in  the  subjects  of  them  ;  these  again  be- 
came favourite  topics  of  domestic  discussion,  and  often  led  on  to 
references  to  books  and  facts  which  from  these  associations  were 
impressed  indelibly  on  the  memory.  Nor  could  the  reasoningpowers 
fail  of  being  strengthened  and  matured  by  these  inquiries,  carried 
on  under  the  indulgent  guidance  of  one  who  did  not  desire  even  from 
his  own  children  a  blind  and  prejudiced  adherence  to  his  opinions; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  never  ceased  to  impress  upon  them  as  the 
most  important  of  all  maxims,  that  their  reason  was  given  them 
for  the  discovery  of  truth,  and  that  there  were  no  subjects  on 
which  it  was  not  allowable,  and  even  laudable,  to  exercise  it  in- 
dependently, within  the  limits  of  modesty  and  candour.  For 
myself, — if  I  may  be  pardoned  the  egotism, — I  must  ever  regard 
it  as  the  most  important  of  many  intellectual  privileges  for  which 
I  am  grateful,  to  have  grown  up  to  maturity  under  the  eye  of  my 
father  during  the  time  that  he  was  engaged  upon  so  many  "  fair 
designs,"  and  especially  on  this  ;  by  virtue  of  which  the  illus- 
trious of  all  ages  were  made  to  pass  as  it  were  before  us  in  a  long 
and  leisurely  procession,  while  we  questioned  each  of  his  title  to 
a  pedestal  in  the  Temple  of  Immortality.  This  was  indeed  phi- 
losophy teaching  by  example  ;  and  to  the  lessons  then  received, 
to  the  principles  thus  imbibed,  I  am  bound,  not  in  duty  arid  af- 
fection alone,  but  in  the  strictest  justice,  to  ascribe  whatever  fa- 
vour any  biographical  attempts  of  my  own  may  since  have  found 
with  an  indulgent  public.  But  for  my  father,  they  never  would 
have  had  an  existence, — to  him  is  to  be  attributed  whatever  merit 
they  possess  ;  all  that  I  can  justly  claim,  is  that  of  having  trea- 
sured up  his  precepts,  and  followed,  to  the  best  of  my  abilities, 
his  example. 

se'qmturque  patreinnon  passions  ceqids. 

My  father  was  accustomed  to  observe,  that  the  rapidity  with 
v/hich  the  nature  of  his  work  obliged  him  to  pass  from  one  cha- 
racter to  another,  had  at  least  this  advantage,  that  it  did  not  allow 
him  to  contract  that  partiality  towards  the  subject  of  his  pen 
which  was  the  prevailing  vice  of  detailed  biographies;  and  this 
remark  leads  me  to  the  consideration  of  the  effects  which  the 
habit  of  contemplating  and  delineating  this  boundless  variety  of 
human  characters  produced  upon  his  sentiments  and  Ms  mode  of 


118  MEMOIR  OF 

expressing  them.  The  honest  indignation  which  he  felt  at  the 
exaggerated  style  of  those  partial  relations  which  he  was  often 
obliged  to  take  as  the  groundwork  of  his  narratives,  led  him  to 
renounce  for  himself,  almost  totally,  the  use  of  epithets,  which  he 
often  observed  to  be  among  the  most  deluding  and  dangerous 
artifices  of  a  disingenuous  biographer.  This  self-denial  may 
probably  impart  at  first  sight  somewhat  of  an  air  of  coldness  and 
severity  to  his  portraits ;  but  when  once  the  eye  of  the  spectator 
has  learned  to  content  itself  with  the  sober  colouring  of  nature, 
i  believe  he  will  readily  acknowledge  that  full  justice  has  been 
done  to  the  features  and  expression  even  of  his  most  distinguish- 
ed favourites.  The  moral  discrimination  of  the  writer  was  so 
perfected  by  habit  and  practice,  which  never  had  the  effect  of 
blunting  his  moral  sensibility, — that  he  seized  almost  intuitively 
on  the  marking  traits  of  a  character,  and  exhibited  them  by  a 
brief  but  masterly  selection  of  the  actions  or  circumstances  in 
which  they  were  most  clear  and  prominent :  having  so  done,  he 
commonly  left  them  to  make  their  own  impression  on  the  reader, 
convinced  that  the  cause  of  biographical,  as  well  as  of  many  other 
kinds  of  truth,  is  better  served  by  a  simple  statement  of  facts, 
than  by  reflections  and  inductions  in  which,  unless  they  be  ex- 
ceedingly trite  and  obvious,  readers  cannot  be  expected  unani- 
mously to  concur. 

The  rare  impartiality  which  presided  over  all  his  statements, 
both  of  facts  and  motives,  has,  I  think,  been  universally  acknow- 
ledged ;  no  man,  I  am  convinced,  ever  laboured  more  earnestly 
and  steadily  to  subdue  the  prejudices  to  which  all  are  liable  ;  and 
I  have  sometimes  even  thought  I  perceived,  that  where  he  was 
conscious  of  a  political  bias,  he  has  compelled  himself  to  do  more 
than  justice  to  certain  characters  of  the  opposite  party.  Favour- 
ite characters,  however,  he  unquestionably  had,  and  favourite 
classes  of  characters  ;  but  his  predilections  were  such  as  he  could 
have  had  no  hesitation  in  avowing, — such  as  he  must  have  wanted 
his  best  virtues  to  have  been  without. 

The  lives  of  celebrated  writers  he  treated  with  great  pleasure 
when  their  personal  qualities  were  strongly  marked,  and  their 
fortunes  sufficiently  known  to  afford  fair  scope  for  narrative ;  but 
that  nice  observance  of  proportion  which  forbade  him  to  enter 
into  any  considerable  detail  of  literary  criticism,  was  somewhat 
unfavourable  to  the  interest  of  this  class  of  articles.  His  predi- 
lection for  inventors  in  every  way  sufficiently  appears  by  his  pre- 


Dtt.  JOHN  AIKIN.  119 

face.  Patriots  of  every  land  commanded  a  large  share  of  his 
homage ;  but  with  respect  to  those  of  antiquity,  he  preferred,  on 
the  whole,  the  Greeks  to  the  Romans  ; — when  a  Greek  was  vir- 
tuous, he  said,  his  virtue  appeared  to  be  both  of  a  purer  and  a 
milder  quality  than  that  of  a  Roman. 

One  class  of  French  characters  he  greatly  admired  and  took 
particular  pains  with  ;  being  of  opinion  that  their  fame,  in  this 
country  at  least,  was  by  no  means  equal  to  their  merit ;  and  these 
were,  magistrates, — such  men  as  L'Hospital,  La  Moignon  and 
Malesherbes, — courageous  champions  of  the  oppressed  and  mis- 
erable people,  when  despotic  power  was  triumphantly  careering 
over  law  and  right; — beautiful  examples  of  purity  of  life  and 
simplicity  of  manners,  when  licentiousness,  frivolity,  and  a  base 
servility,  had  become  characteristic  of  the  court  and  nation. 
The  small  band  of  genuine  lovers  of  their  kind  whose  business 
in  the  world  was  doing  good,  "  fair  virtue's  silent  train,"  receiv- 
ed from  him  the  most  assiduous  and  affectionate  celebration  : — 
holding  as  he  did  that  ail  moral  virtue  was  to  be  resolved  into 
the  preference  of  the  social  principle  to  the  selfish,  disinterested- 
ness appeared  to  him  the  first  of  human  qualities  ;  and  the  emi- 
nent examples  of  it  in  every  line,  those  which  most  deserved  and 
required  to  be  continually  held  up  for  the  imitation  of  mankind. 

To  the  list  of  Dr.  Aikin's  literary  occupations  during  the  year 
1796,  must  be  added  two  more  of  his  critical  essays  on  poems ; 
those  on  Somervill's  Chace,  and  on  Pope's  Essay  on  Man,  both 
comprised  in  the  present  volume.  The  first  of  these  poems 
was  certainly  not  recommended  to  his  attention  by  any  predi- 
lection for  the  amusement  of  which  it  treats  ;  on  the  contrary,  it 
had  happened  to  him,  very  early  in  life,  to  witness  two  or  three 
instances  of  the  tyrannical  behaviour  sometimes  exercised  by 
gentlemen  upon  their  tenants  and  inferiors  in  hunting,  which 
had  impressed  him  with  deep  and  permanent  disgust.  But  the 
lively  descriptions  of  the  manners  and  instincts  of  various  ani- 
mals, and  of  some  features  of  rural  scenery,  with  which  it  abounds, 
appeared  to  him  to  render  this  piece  worthy  the  perusal  of  the 
lovers  of  verse  in  general  ;  and  his  remarks  on  those  portions  of 
The  Chace  will  be  read  with  pleasure. 

In  his  choice  of  the  Essay  on  Man  as  a  subject  of  critical  and 
philosophical  remark,  he  was  prompted,  as  I  believe,  not  merely 
by  its  merit  and  popularity ;  he  felt  besides  a  strong  impulse  to 
rescue  the  author,  with  respect  to  this  work  at  least,  from  the 


1:0  MEMOIR  OF 

artful  misrepresentations  of  his  earliest  editor  and  commentator, 
bishop  Warburton;  whose  dishonest  glosses  upon  the  po-t  were 
often,  in  conversation,  the  theme  of  his  indignant  remark.  In 
pursuance  of  this  object,  however,  he  has  not  judged  it  necessary 
to  enter  into  any  particular  refutation  of  the  errors,  or  false- 
hoods, of  Warburton  ;  but  taking  care  to  disencumber  his  own 
edition  completely  of  his  notes  and  commentary,  he  proceeds, 
after  a  general  statement  of  their  delusory  nature,  to  supply  the 
place  by  a  clear  and  accurate  analysis  of  his  own  ;  this  is  inter- 
spersed, in  his  usual  manner,  with  warm  and  copious  expositions 
of  the  poetical  beauties  of  the  piece,  and  with  more  general  no- 
tices of  its  poetical  defects* 

Neither  the  line  of  his  studies  nor  the  general  habits  of  his 
mind,  led  him  to  institute  any  inquiry  into  the  original  sources 
of  the  system  which  Bolingbroke  is  known  to  have  furnished  to 
Pope ;  he  has  not  even  mentioned  the  names  of  Plato  or  of  Shafts- 
bury  on  the  occasion ;  nor  has  he  thought  it  necessary,  in  examin- 
ing the  poem,  to  show  himself  either  the  apologist  or  the  assail- 
ant of  the  system,  as  a  whole ;  but  in  his  remarks  on  some  par- 
ticulars, the  judicious  reader  will  recognise  the  acute  and  pow- 
erful thinker.  Thus,  on  the  first  epistle  he  observes,  that  "  in  lay- 
ing it  down  as  a  maxim  that  *  We  can  only  reason  from  what  we 
know,'  he  seems  to  invalidate  some  of  his  own  conjectural  argu- 
ments concerning  that  order  of  the  universe  which  is  to  account 
for  apparent  partial  defects  "  On  the  conclusion  of  the  second 
epistle,  he  remarks,  that  it  is  not  easy  to  say  what  moral  effect 
the  author  meant  to  produce:  "If  man's  folly  is  equally  con- 
spicuous in  all  he  does;  if  his  weaknesses  are  made  the  instru- 
ments of  his  happiness;  if  *  in  folly's  cup  still  laughs  the  bubble 
joy,'  and  « not  a  vanity  was  given  in  vain,'  it  would  seem  very 
fruitless  to  attempt  by  artificial  wisdom  to  correct  the  designed 
and  inherent  defects  of  our  nature." 

While  he  was  thus  strenuously  labouring  to  improve  his  time 
and  talents  to  the  utmost,  while  his  worldly  connections  were 
daily  increasing  in  number  and  consequence,  and  while  his  chil- 
dren were  growing  up  around  him  to  that  important  period  when 
the  hand  of  a  parent  was  required  to  launch  them  upon  the 
world; — symptoms  unexpectedly  appeared  which  threatened  him 
with  an  early  separation  from  all  earthly  concerns.  As  early  as 
the  middle  of  the  year  1796,  he  underwent  a  rather  severe  fit  of 
llncss,  which  he  judged  to  proceed  from  some  affection  of  the 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  121 

liver,  and  from  winch  lie  rightly  supposed  himself  to  be  tempora- 
rily, not  permanently,  relieved.  The  usual  effects  of  similar 
maladies  on  the  spirits,  were  in  his  case  distressingly  manifest, 
though  combated  by  those  principles  which  constantly  presided 
over  his  firm  and  well  regulated  mind.  On  recovering  from  this 
first  attack,  he  thus  expressed  his  feelings  in  a  letter  to  Dr.  Hay- 
garth  : 

" I  now  think  myself  almost  as  well  as  usual,  bating  a 

little  of  my  walking  powers,  and  some  of  the  vigour  of  maturity. 
At  the  same  time,  this  affair  has  strongly  put  me  in  mind  of 
mortality,  and  I  have  in  expectation  lopped  off  a  good  many 
years  from  my  date  of  life.  But  my  only  inference  is,  that  t 
must  live  while  I  can, — do  all  in  my  power  for  my  family  and 
friends, — enjoy  myself  moderately,  and  leave  the  rest  to  fate. 
And  believe  me,  my  dear  friend,  when  I  had  in  my  own  imagina- 
tion a  near  prospect  of  breaking  up,  my  spirits  were  perfectly 
tranquil  and  serene,  and  I  felt  that  the  '  leave  to  lay  my  being 
down'  would  not  have  been  unwelcome.  In  fact,  what  is  there 
at  fifty  (I  shall  be  that  next  January)  worth  living  on  for,  to  a 
person  of  delicate  health,  with  no  new  expectations,  and  involved 
in  increasing  cares  ?  Life  is  not  painful  to  me,  but  it  is  indiffer- 
ent, and/or  my  own  sake  I  had  rather  be  out  of  the  way  of  the 
coming  bustle,  and  leave  the  young  folks  to  settle  matters,  with- 
out partaking  in  it.  Yet  I  think  it  my  duty  to  keep  up  as  long  as 
I  can,  because  I  believe  myself  not  an  entirely  useless  personage 
in  this  world." 

During  the  whole  of  the  year  1797,  his  health  continued  visi- 
bly to  decline ;  and  two  or  three  little  excursions  into  the  coun- 
try during  the  summer  failed  to  produce  any  beneficial  effect. 
Yet  in  the  midst  of  languor  and  suffering,  and  with  that  clear 
perception  of  all  the  possibilities  of  common  mischief  which  ex- 
ercises the  fortitude  of  a  medical  man  in  sickness,  he  never  al- 
lowed himself  to  sink  into  the  selfish  and  cheerless  indolence  of 
an  acknowledged  invalid  ;  and  his  literary  occupations  were 
never  abandoned,  and  remitted  only  in  the  exact  degree  that  his 
bodily  weakness  rendered  indispensable.  The  composition  of 
the  first  volume  of  the  General  Biography,  and  the  editorship  of 
the  Monthly  Magazine,  for  which  fie  also  wrote  a  good  deal, 
were  the  principal  employments  of  the  year.  Towards  the  con- 
clusion of  it,  his  feelings  were  severely  tried  by  the  death  of  his 
dear  friend  Dr.  Enfield,  now  still  more  closely  connected  with 

Q 


122  MEMOIR  OF 

him  by  a  literary  partnership  which  had  been  carried  on  with  un 
interrupted  harmony  and  mutual  satisfaction.  He  immediately 
drew  up  a  short  biographical  notice  of  this  most  amiable  man 
and  estimable  writer  for  the  Monthly  Magazine,  and  some  time 
after  edited  a  collection  of  his  sermons  published  for  the  benefit 
of  the  family,  to  which  he  prefixed  a  more  copious  memoir,  some- 
what in  the  mode  of  the  French  Eloges,  but  characterised  by  a 
simplicity  and  a  genuine  warmth  of  feeling,  not  often  to  be  found 
in  those  boasted  performances.*  Such  was  the  state  of  debility 
to  which  sickness  had  reduced  him  at  the  time  of  writing  it,  that 
nothing  less  potent  than  the  kind  and  friendly  motive  which  ani- 
mated him  to  make  the  effort,  could  have  carried  him  through 
the  affecting  task. 

At  length  it  became  necessary  for  him  to  try  in  earnest  the 
effects  of  country  air,  horse  exercise,  and  a  complete  vacation 
from  the  fatigues  of  a  profession  ;  and  early  in  the  spring  of  1798 
he  removed  to  lodgings  in  the  town  of  Dorking  in  Surry,  where 
he  was  cheered  by  the  society  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barbauld,  who 
came  to  join  him,  and  by  a  kind  visit  from  his  constant  friend 
Dr.  Haygarth.  Four  months  were  spent  by  him  agreeably  and 
beneficially  in  this  delightful  spot;  and  the  result  of  the  leisurely 
survey  of  the  surrounding  scenery  afforded  him  by  his  daily 
rides,  was  an  animated  description  of  the  country  about  Dork 
ing  which  appeared  in  the  Monthly  Magazine.}  Nor  was  this 
the  only  record  of  his  abode  in  Surry.  It  is  from  Dorking  that 
he  dates  the  commencement  of  the  second  volume  of  his  Letters 
from  a  Father  to  a  Son;  and  in  the  introductory  letter  he  ex- 
plains the  circumstances  which  had  carried  him  thither,  and  de- 
scribes with  great  sensibility  the  soothing  effects  of  the  charms 
of  rural  nature  on  a  mind  agitated  by  the  cares  and  hurry  of  a 
city  life,  and  deeply  wounded  by  "  the  desolating  prospects  which 
the  late  train  of  human  affairs  had  presented  to  the  lover  of  man- 
kind." 

On  quitting  Dorking,  he  hoped  to  recover  a  further  degree  of 
strength  by  a  visit  of  a  few  weeks  in  Bedfordshire  ;  but  here  the 
symptoms  of  his  disease  came  on  with  increased  violence ;  and 
it  soon  became  evident  that  a  final  renunciation  of  London  and 
of  his  profession  was  the  only  step  by  which  life,  with  some  re- 


Appendix  (B.)  f  Appendix  (C.) 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  123 

maining  power  of  usefulness  to  his  family  and  the  public,  could 
be  preserved.  To  submit  himself  calmly  to  all  inevitable  evils, 
was  a  point  of  moral  discipline  which  he  had  long  and  success- 
fully practised  ;  and  without  wasting  time  in  irresolution  or  fruit- 
less regret,  he  gave  up  his  house  in  Broad  Street  Buildings  to 
the  occupation  of  his  sons,  and  in  October  1798,  removed  to 
lodgings  in  the  village  of  Stoke  Newington,  where  he  soon  after 
hired  a  house  which  continued  to  be  his  home  to  the  end  of  his 
life. 

This  removal  may  be  regarded  as  the  termination  of  his  pro- 
fessional life  ; — henceforth  he  seldom  acted  as  a  physician  but 
within  the  limits  of  his  own  village,  and  principally  for  the  bene- 
fit of  his  poor  neighbours;  for  whose  service  he  cheerfully  set, 
apart  an  hour  every  morning,  during  which  he  gave  advice  to  all 
who  came,  besides  frequently  visiting  them  at  their  own  houses. 
Literature  was  his  sole  regular  occupation,  and  the  domestic 
scene  almost  his  only  sphere  of  action.  His  weak  state  of  health 
during  the  early  part  of  his  residence  at  Newington,  and  after- 
wards the  love  of  study,  which  continually  increased  upon  him, 
supplied  him  with  reasons  for  declining  the  ordinary  visiting  of 
the  place,  nor  did  he  make  any  considerable  efforts  to  keep  up 
London  society;  well  content  to  allow  himself  to  be  forgotten, 
by  all  but  the  few  whom  friendship,  or  real  congeniality  of  taste, 
might  prompt  to  make  the  effort  of  seeking  him  out  in  his  subur- 
ban retreat.  The  philosophical  moderation  of  his  wishes,  and 
the  high  value  which  he  set  upon  that  kind  of  independence 
which  is  rarely  compatible  with  projects  of  worldly  advance- 
ment, enabled  him  without  much  difficulty  to  reconcile  himself 
to  a  change  by  which  the  career  of  ambition  was  closed  upon  him 
for  ever.  Habit  gradually  rendered  agreeable  to  him  a  mode  of 
life  which  at  first  had  only  appeared  tolerable ;  and  while  the 
success  of  his  writings,  besides  making  a  welcome  addition  to  his 
resources,  gave  him  the  well  earned  satisfaction  of  believing  that 
he  still  contributed  to  the  pleasure  and  advantage  of  the  public  ; 
— at  peace  in  his  own  mind,  beloved  ancl^respectad  by  a  chosen 
few,  and  happy  in  the  cultivation  of  the  domestic  and  social  af- 
fections, he  saw  among  the  children  of  prosperity  few  to  con- 
gratulate and  none  to  envy. 

Notwithstanding  the  slow  progress  of  his  health  towards  amend- 
ment, the  year  1799,  the  first  of  his  retirement,  was  one  of  the  most 
productive  of  his  literary  life.  His  superintendence  of  the  Maga 


124  MEMOIR  OF 

zine  and  contribution  to  its  pages  continued  ;  the  first  volume  of 
the  General  Biography  was  printed  in  the  spring  ;  and  he  tilled 
up  the  interval  between  its  appearance  and  the  preparation  for 
a  second,  with  a  translation  of  some  Eulogies  by  D'Alernbert, 
and  with  the  completion  of  a  second  volume  of  his  Letters  to  a 
Son. 

The  Select  Eulogies  of  D*  Member  t,  from  two  volumes  octavo; 
a  short  biographical  preface  and  a  few  notes,  are  all  the  original 
matter  contributed  by  the  translator;  but  whoever  is  acquainted 
with  the  entire  work,  will  confess  that  the  task  of  selection  was 
one  of  considerable  delicacy.  Respecting  this  point,  the  trans- 
lator states  that  he  has  taken  "  those  articles  which  appeared  to 
him  most  likely  to  engage  an  English  reader,  as  well  as  to  afford 
that  variety  of  subject  which  might  display  the  author's  senti- 
ments upon  the  most  interesting  topics  ;"  he  also  mentions  with 
regard  to  the  text  of  the  original,  that  he  has  only  subjected  it 
to  such  slight  occasional  curtailments  as  the  prolixity  of  the  wri- 
ter's style  rendered  desirable  ;  but  that  he  has  freely  omitted  of 
the  notes  either  portions  or  entire  ones  at  his  discretion. 

With  regard  to  the  second  volume  of  Letters,  after  the  full 
account  formerly  given  of  the  nature  and  scope  of  the  first,  a  com- 
parison of  the  contents  of  the  two  volumes  will  sufficiently  illus- 
trate the  characteristics  of  the  latter.  The  most  obvious  point  of 
difference  between  the  two,  is  in  the  length  of  the  letters ;  thirty 
are  comprised  in  the  first,  while  the  second,  though  of  equal  bulk, 
contains  no  more  than  seventeen.  In  correspondence  with  this 
diversity,  the  topics  of  the  last  are  usually  of  a  somewhat  graver 
cast ;  and  they  are  with  fewer  exceptions  such  as  come  home  to 
the  dearest  interests  of  the  reader.  A  suitable  progression  is 
observable  in  the  style  and  tone.  In  these  respects  the  first 
volume  preserves  some  traces  of  the  characters  of  youth,  but  the 
second  is  strongly  impressed  with  the  stamp  of  maturity.  Sub- 
jects are  treated  with  greater  depth  as  well  as  copiousness,  and 
the  results  of  long  continued  habits  of  observation  and  reflection, 
and  of  the  varied  experience  of  life,  are  every  where  super-added 
to  the  dictates  of  native  good  sense  or  the  promptings  of  book- 
learned  philosophy.  These  diversities,  greater  certainly  than  the 
apparent  interval  of  time  between  the  two  will  account  for,  ad- 
mit however  of  an  easy  explanation. 

Not  less  than  twelve  or  fourteen  years  previous  to  the  publi- 
cation of  the  first  volume,  the  idea  had  already  occurred  to  the 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  125 

author  of  embodying  his  remarks  on  a  variety  of  subjects,  moral, 
literary,  and  critical,  in  a  series  of  letters,  which  he  then  pro- 
posed to  address  to  his  sister.  On  further  self-examination,  a 
doubt  whether  he  had  yet  accumulated  a  sufficient  stock  of  ori- 
ginal ideas  to  justify  his  claiming  the  public  attention  in  this 
mode,  induced  him  to  suspend  his  design,  and  give  the  prece- 
dence to  other  which  he  had  meditated  in  less  difficult  walks  of 
literature.  He  continued,  however,  silently  and  gradually,  to 
make  preparations  for  this  favourite  work ;  and  in  proportion  as 
topics  suggested  themselves  to  his  mind,  to  form  sketches  of 
which  he  afterwards  availed  himself.  But  the  first  volume  of 
his  Letters  absorbed  all  those  early  collections,  and  when  he  sat 
down  to  the  composition  of  the  second,  his  recent  ideas  alone  re- 
mained to  supply  him  with  materials.  It  will  be  interesting  to 
observe  the  direction  which  circumstances,  public  and  private, 
had  given  them. 

The  disappointment  of  the  friends  of  French  liberty  was  now 
consummated.     The  impetuous  spirit  of  that  people,  after  break- 
ing out  in  those  excesses  of  civil  fury  which  had  filled  all  Europe 
with  horror,  had  found  a  fresh  vent  in  the  passion  for  military 
glory  ;  the  achievements  of  the  new  republic  had  already  far  ex- 
ceeded the  boldest  projects  of  Louis  XIV. ;  she  had  more  than 
repaid  to  her  continental  foes  all  the  evils  which  their  aggression 
had  inflicted  upon  her;  England  itself  was  threatened  by  her 
with  invasion ;  and  even  those  who  in  the  outset  had  protested 
the  most  strongly  against  the  war,  as  neither  just  nor  necessary, 
were  compelled  to  acknowledge  that  it  had   now  become  both, 
on  the  great  principle  of  self-defence.     Under  these  circum- 
stances, every  thing  French  had   been  branded  with  one  com- 
mon note  of  reprobation  ;  and  under  the  name  of  French  princi- 
ples, even  those  maxims  of  civil  and  religious  liberty  which  are 
most  consonant  not  to   reason  or  philosophy  alone,  but  to  the 
genuine  spirit  of  the  British  constitution,  were  exposed  to  con- 
travention, to  obloquy,  and  almost  to  proscription.     It  was  their 
peril  which  principally  weighed  upon  the  mind  of  Dr.  Aikin,  and 
he  flew  to  their  aid  with  all  the  force  of  argument,  all  the  power 
of  persuasion  or  deprecation  that  he  was  able  to  command.     In 
his  introductory  letter  he  already  begins  to  unbosom  himself  on 
the  subjects  nearest  to  his  heart.     "  What  disappointment  of 
elevated  hopes  !"  he   exclaims  ;  "  what  heart  rending  scenes  of 
public  and  private  calamity  !     What  triumph  of  violence  and  in- 


126  MEMOIR  OF 

justice !  Who  but  must  turn  with  loathing  from  successive 
fields  of  carnage,  and  shameless  violations  of  all  faith,  equity, 
and  humanity !  Nor  as  yet  do  the  clouds  begin  to  disperse,  nor 
can  a  gleam  of  brighter  day  be  discerned  through  the  gloom  !'* 
In  the  enlarged  contemplations  of  philosophy,  however,  and  in 
the  conviction  that  good,  on  the  whole,  preponderates,  he  shows 
that  philanthropy  may  find  reasons  to  acquiesce  in  the  partial 
and  temporary  sufferings  of  individuals,  whether  inflicted  by  hu- 
man or  material  agents.  The  greater  difficulty,  he  proceeds,  is 
to  witness  with  composure  "  the  failure  of  prospects  of  the  me- 
lioration of  the  condition  of  man  by  the  efforts  of  his  own  reason, 
— and  he  who  has  adopted  the  pleasing  theory  of  a  progress  to- 
wards wisdom  and  virtue,  will  deplore,  more  than  any  common 
evils,  the  subversion  which  seems  to  threaten  principle."  After 
instancing  those  fundamental  maxims  of  free  government  which 
are  most  endangered,  he  points  out  the  temporary  causes  which 
have  occasioned  this  retrogradation, — cautions  against  the  weak- 
ness of  trying  truth  by  partial  or  temporary  results,  or  deserting 
principles  on  account  of  their  erroneous  or  abusive  application, 
— and  ends  by  wishing  for  his  son,  "  in  the  generous  spirit  of 
ancient  philosophy,"  a  free  and  independent  mind,  a  habit  of 
estimating  men  and  things  by  another  rule  than  the  opinions  of 
the  day,  of  making  truth  the  great  object  of  his  researches,  and 
of  respecting  himself  too  much  to  be  dazzled  by  artificial  splen- 
dour or  awed  by  arrogant  assumption. 

The  next  letter,  On  Party,  is  written  in  the  same  intention 
with  the  former.  It  combats  the  favourite  maxim  of  certain  wri- 
ters, that  parties  are  all  alike, — that  they  are  "  the  madness  of 
many  for  the  gain  of  a  few," — points  out  the  essential  and  eter- 
nal moral  difference  between  the  party  of  abuse  and  that  of 
reform, — then  lays  down  rules  and  gives  cautions  for  avoiding 
the  violence  and  absurdity,  the  credulity,  the  unfairness,  and  the 
littleness  of  party ;  and  thus  concludes  :  "  It  is  true  philosophy 
alone  that  can  elevate  the  mind  above  all  that  is  low  and  debas- 
ing ;  and  opposite  as  the  characters  of  Philosophy  and  Parly 
have  usually  appeared,  I  despair  not  of  their  union  in  one 
breast." 

It  is  sufficient  to  name  the  letters,  On  Authority  in  Matter  of 
Opinion,  and  On  the  Respect  due  to  Superiors,  to  intimate  to  the 
judicious  reader  the  direct  application  of  these  pieces  to  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  times  ;  in  fact,  the  last  of  these  sets  out  with 


DR.  JOHN  AlKIN.  12r 

an  avowal  of  this  motive  of  selection  equally  worthy,  as  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  of  the  philosopher  and  the  free  man.  "  At  a  time 
when,  on  the  one  hand,  extravagant  notions  of  equality  have  en- 
dangered the  existence  of  civilised  society,  and  on  the  other,  ar- 
rogant claims  of  superiority  are  maintained  to  a  degree  subver- 
sive of  all  the  principles  of  civil  liberty,  it  may  seem  a  delicate 
and  hazardous  matter  to  touch  upon  a  subject  so  involved  in  party 
prejudice  as  that  announced  for  the  present  letter  But  consi- 
derations of  this  kind  have  little  weight  with  me,  in  the  choice  of 
topics  on  which  to  exercise  free  and  manly  discussion.  On  the 
contrary,  the  more  interesting  they  are  rendered  by  temporary 
circumstances,  the  more  they  appear  to  me  to  demand  that  tem- 
perate examination  whence  useful  rules  may  be  derived  for  the 
conduct  of  those  in  whose  welfare  we  are  most  concerned." 

The  Letter  On  Openness  and  Sincerity,  refers  very  distinctly 
to  certain  difficulties  in  which  the  holders  of  free  opinions  were 
then,  as  at  present,  involved  by  the  ruling  spirit  of  the  times  ;  it 
also  exposes  the  extravagant  notions  of  the  obligation  to  obtrude 
controverted  opinions  in  all  companies,  at  that  time  promulgated 
by  the  author  of  a  celebrated  system  of  Political  Justice.  That  On 
the  Taste  of  Farming  aims  at  removing  some  delusory  notions 
respecting  the  pleasures  of  an  agricultural  life,  which  were  then 
extremely  prevalent,  and  to  which  many  a  thoughtless  deserter 
from  the  office,  the  counter,  or  the  counting  house,  has  owed  the 
ruin  of  all  his  rational  prospects  in  life. 

Of  the  miscellaneous  letters  void  of  particular  application  to 
the  times,  three  are  based  upon  the  biographical  studies  of 
the  author.  That  On  a  Criterion  of  Perfection  in  Writing,  I 
should  point  out  as  a  peculiarly  successful  effort  in  philosophical 
criticism,  and  one  which  it  required  a  rich  mind  to  produce  ; 
yet  it  is  I  think  excelled  in  reach  of  thought  by  that  On  the  compa- 
rative Value  of  different  Studies,  which  likewise  exhibits  very  ex- 
tensive knowledge,  both  of  the  various  branches  of  human  learning 
and  of  the  characters  of  those  by  whom  they  have  been  eminently 
cultivated.  On  a  topic  like  this,  it  is  scarcely  possible  for  any 
man  to  be  perfectly  impartial ;  some  predilection  for  the  objects 
of  his  own  pursuit,  some  depreciation,  or  neglect  of  those  with 
which  he  is  imperfectly  acquainted,  will,  in  spite  of  himself,  be 
apparent  to  others.  A  sagacious  reader  might  probably  in  this 
piece  detect  some  of  the  predilections  or  prejudices  of  the  au- 


128  MEMOIR  OF 

thor  ;  but  if  he  had  his  preferences,  it  may  be  allowed  that  he  was 
not  destitute  of  cogent  arguments  to  defend  them 

I  quote  part  of  the  concluding  paragraph  for  the  sake  of  a  re- 
mark which  it  suggests.  "  It  is  not,  then,  merely  the  species  of 
study,  but  the  mind  and  spirit  with  which  it  is  pursued,  that 
should  regulate  our  estimate  of  the  intellectual  powers  of  the 
student.  Folly  often  conceals  herself  under  the  mask  of  seri- 
ousness, and  wisdom  is  sometimes  light  and  playful.  The  latter 
knows  she  hazards  nothing  by  occasionally  descending  from  her 
dignity;  whereas  folly  loses  all  by  losing  appearances."  This 
observation  is  peculiarly  characteristic  ;  no  man  was  less  a  dupe 
to  gravity  than  my  father  ;  a  solemn  air,  particularly  in  a  young 
person,  gave  him  a  prepossession  against  its  wearer  which  was 
rarely  to  be  overcome  ;  he  certainly  on  all  occasions  thought 
"  the  merrier  fools  the  wiser,"  and  few  things  delighted  him 
more  in  his  biographical  reading  than  any  anecdotes  showing 
genius,  wisdom,  or  virtue,  in  happy  union  with  that  artless  spor- 
tiveness  which  belongs  to  innocence  and  good  humour  alone  I 
am  persuaded  that  in  writing  this  sentence  he  had  in  his  mind 
a  story  of  the  gr£kt  and  excellent  Dr.  Clarke,  which  he  was  fond 
of  telling:  This  eminent  person  and  two  or  three  of  his  chosen 
learned  friends,  were  one  day  amusing  themselves  with  jumping 
over  chairs  and  tables,  and  other  youthful  pranks  ; — suddenly 
Dr.  Clarke,  looking  through  the  window  and  espying  a  solemn 
personage  in  a  large  wig;  making  his  approach,  exclaimed  in 
great  apparent  alarm, — "  Boys,  boys,  be  grave,  here  comes  a  fool !" 

The  letter  On  the  best  Mode  of  encountering  the  Evils  of  Life, 
forms  an  encellent  sequel  to  that  On  Consolation,  in  the  former 
volume ;  it  particularly  discusses  the  two  principles  of  resigna- 
tion under  evils,  and  resistance  to  them ;  shows  that,  notwith- 
standing their  apparent  opposition,  both  may  and  ought  to  have 
their  place  in  teaching  us  either  contentedly  to  endure  priva- 
tions, or  bravely  to  encounter  obstacles.  Referring  then  to  the 
power  of  substitution,  which  he  had  before  pointed  out  as  the 
best  alleviation  under  the  loss  of  friends,  and  observing  that  "in 
all  evils  of  a  similar  class  the  same  relief  should  be  sought  after; 
and  that  the  pursuit  of  it  requires  the  union  of  the  spirit  of  re- 
signation with  that  of  resistance, — the  first,  to  prepare  the  way 
for  the  second," — he  has  the  following  striking  reference  to  his 
own  situation : 

"  I  have  lost,  probably  for  ever,  that  health  which  fitted  me  for 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  129 

active  services  and  enjoyments,  and  with  it  many  sources  of 
happiness  and  utility.  Shall  I  abandon  myself  to  unavailing  sor- 
row, and  drag  out  a  lifeless  existence  in  the  inaction  of  despair? 
No.  My  head  and  hands  are  still  free, — I  can  write,  read,  and 
converse.  To  these,  then,  I  must  look  for  my  future  amuse- 
ments and  occupations,  and  I  may  yet  make  a  good  salvage  for 
the  remains  of  life."  Those  who  followed  him  into  his  retreat, 
— who  were  his  companions  of  all  hours, — who  shared  his  senti- 
ments, his  designs,  his  studies,  and  his  amusements,  can  bear 
their  honest  testimony  to  the  constant  and  cheerful  mind  with 
which  he  acted  up  to  the  spirit  of  these  noble  self-exhortations. 
We  had  no  vain  repinings  to  endure, — no  selfish  exactions, — no 
fretful  idleness.  While  his  illness  continued,  he  was  gentle,  af- 
fectionate, uncomplaining,  and  still  industrious  ;  as  health  and 
strength  gradually  returned,  we  saw  him  active,  cheerful,  ani- 
mated, contented  with  the  life  which  he  led,  and  partaking  with 
a  relish  of  the  cheap  and  simple  pleasures  still  within  his  reach. 
The  cultivation  of  a  little  garden,  with  a  few  of  his  favourite 
rock  plants,  and  an  aviary  ;  exploring  rambles  through  the  neigh- 
bouring fields  and  villages,  the  easy  chat  of  the  domestic  circle, 
the  occasional  visits  of  a  few  of  the  most  congenial  and  affec- 
tionate of  his  London  friends,  and  now  and  then  a  social  day,  or 
a  morning  of  sight-seeing  in  the  great  city,  were  sufficient  to  at- 
tune his  mind  to  cheerfulness,  and  to  invigorate  him  for  the 
mental  labour  which  he  loved. 

Portions  of  two  or  three  of  his  letters  written  to  Dr.  Haygarth 
in  1798  and  1799,  may  interest  some  readers  from  the  view  af- 
forded of  his  opinions  or  impressions  on  medical  subjects  : 

"I  am  very  glad  that  you  mean  to  communicate  to  the  world 
some  of  the  results  of  your  long  and  very  attentive  medical  ob- 
servation. Such  as  you  are  the  only  persons  1  wish  to  write  on 
our  profession.  We  want  facts,  and  not  fine-spun  reasonings 
or  plausible  theories.  I  often  feel  absolutely  shocked  at  the  little 
advance  that  has  been  made  in  the  healing  art,  in  really  impor- 
tant points,  within  our  memory.  Perhaps  you  are  not  of  the  same 
opinion,  but  I  think  you  must  agree  with  me  that  much  ingenuity 
has  been  wasted  on  trifles.'' 

And  again  :  "  Your  kind  plan  of  finding  an  useful  and  profit- 
able employment  for  my  pen,  is  an  additional  instance  to  many 
others  of  your  friendly  zeal  in  my  favour,  and  demands  a  fresh 
acknowledgment.  It  does  not,  however,  require  much  reflection 
R 


130  MEMOIR  OF 

to  induce  me  to  give  up  the  scheme,  since  it  would  probably  en- 
gage all  my  remaining  days  in  a  course  of  study  which  I  have 
intermitted,  and  which  would  be  less  pleasant,  and  I  believe  less 
profitable  to  me,  than  my  actual  occupations.  In  truth,  the  in- 
terest I  take  in  professional  matters  is  now  very  small,  and  I 
have  been  completely  disgusted  with  the  absurdities  of  theory, 
and  extravagancies  or  ambiguities  of  practice,  with  which  the  his- 
tory of  the  art,  down  to  the  present  day,  abounds.  I  long  ago 
became  sensible,  also,  that  to  confine  the  history  and  biography 
of  medicine  to  our  island  was  a  narrow  and  prejudiced  plan,  and 
that  nothing  less  than  a  view  of  the  whole  progress  of  medical 
opinion  and  practice  was  an  adequate  subject  for  an  enlarged 
mind.  But  this  is  such  a  vast  topic,  that  nothing  less  than  entire 
health,  spirits,  zeal,  leisure,  and  opportunities  can  enable  a  per- 
son creditably  to  go  through  it.  What  Haller  has  done  in  his 
Bibliotheques  is  perhaps  enough  for  mere  utility, — and  what  an 
immense  labour  has  he  performed  !  To  make  the  work  also  in- 
teresting and  entertaining  would  be  an  Herculean  task." 

" ....  I  am  pleased  with  your  wooden  tractors  ;*  for  although 
I  do  not  think  much  is  gained  by  freeing  mankind  from  one  de- 
lusion, when  they  are  so  prone  immediately  to  rush  into  another, 
yet  I  love  to  see  fraud  and  folly  exposed.  The  faculty,  however, 
may  thank  themselves  for  several  late  quackeries,  since  they  have 
evidently  originated  from  their  mysterious  and  subtile  theories." 

The  desire  of  enjoying  some  personal  intercourse  with  his 
friend,  urged  him  in  the  summer  of  this  year  to  take  a  journey  to 
Bath,  whither  Dr.  Haygarth  had  recently  removed  ;  but  a  serious 
return  of  illness  was  the  result  of  this  effort.  Early  in  the  fol- 
lowing year,  he  experienced  a  slight  paralysis  of  the  left  arm ; 
this  was  attended  with  no  permanent  effects,  but  he  well  under- 
stood the  warning,  and  he  related  the  circumstance  to  his  medi- 
cal friend  with  the  following  remarks : — "  This  I  take  as  a  sort 
of  token  what  I  may  some  time  expect ;  as  indeed  some  symp- 
toms had  before  led  me  to  suspect.  But  if  my  writing  hand  is 
spared,  I  shall  think  myself  pretty  well  off.  I  can  indeed  assure 
you  that  my  spirits  have  not  been  in  the  least  affected  by  this  in- 
cident. I  had  rather  not  die  by  inches;  but  be  it  as  it  is  de- 
creed !" 


*  The  medical  reader  will  recollect  Dr.  Ha) Drill's  curious  experiments  with 
vooden  tractors,  made  for  the  purpose  of  exposing  the  quackery  of  the  metallic 
ones. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  131 

After  this,  his  constitution  began  to  rally  ;  and  he  went  on  in. 
a  progress  towards  firm  health,  which  continued  with  few  inter- 
ruptions for  a  long  course  of  years  ;  his  spirits  improved  in  con- 
sequence, and  his  occupations  are  thus  described  to  Dr.  Haygarth 
in  June,  1800: — 

"  I  continue  to  go  on  in  my  biographical  trammels,  which  keep 
me  to  constant,  but  not  very  hard,  work.  We  are  now  printing 
the  second  volume,  which  will  be  almost  entirely  of  my  compo- 
sition. Enlarging  my  department  has  of  course  extended  my  line 
of  reading,  but  I  do  not  think  myself  much  the  better  or  wiser 
for  all  the  theological  matter  I  have  been  obliged  to  go  through. 
Without  the  deciding  bias  of  interest,  an  inquirer  into  these 
points  is  more  likely  to  end  in  scepticism  than  in  conviction. 
Error  is  so  manifold,  while  truth  is  only  one,  that  the  chance  of 
hitting  upon  the  latter  is  very  small.  It  is  well  that  these  doubts 
do  not  attend  upon  practice,  and  that  duties  are  generally  clear, 
however  obscure  may  be  the  systems  from  which  they  are  deri- 
ved." 

In  consequence  of  some  remarks  of  his  friend  in  answer,  the 
subject  is  resumed  in  a  following  letter,  thus  : — 

"For  the  credit  of  the  next  volume  of  Biography,  now  almost 
printed,  1  must  remonstrate  with  you,  my  friend,  about  your  opi- 
nion of  my  incapacity  as  a  theologian.  Do  you  think  that  it  re- 
quires a  black  coat  to  form  a  just  notion  of  matters  accessible  to 
every  man  of  reading?  Is  it  not  even  an  advantage  to  be  free 
from  the  shackles  of  sect  and  profession  ?  I  flatter  myself  that 
no  liberal  man  can  take  exception  at  my  articles  under  that  head. 
I  have  studiously  avoided  any  mixture  of  personal  opinion,  and 
have  faithfully  endeavoured  to  assign  to  every  one  his  just  me- 
rits as  a  man  and  a  scholar,  not  regarding  the  particular  cause 
he  has  supported.  However,  it  was  certainly  right  that  this  de- 
partment should  be  assigned  to  another  hand,  and  it  is  already 
turned  over  to  a  proper  person.  What  I  retain  is  no  more  than 
I  can  do  with  such  moderate  exertion  as  is  perfectly  agreeable 
to  me,  and  indeed  necessary  to  keep  me  in  spirits.  You  will  find 
that  a  few  physicians  have  passed  through  my  hands ;  but  I  really 
cannot  descend  from  kings  and  heroes  to  employ  myself  solely 
about  the  paltry  intrigues  and  nonsensical  opinions  which  occupy 
so  much  of  medical  biography.  I  hope  you  will  approve  my  arti- 
cle of  Boerhaave,  who  is  hitherto  my  best  medical  subject. 

"The  Magazine  still  affords  me  a  good  deal  of  monthly  em- 


132  MEMOIR  OF 

ploy.  I  have  also  varied  my  studies  by  writing  some  more  criti 
cal  pieces  for  editions  of  English  poets.  I  wish  you  could  see 
an  essay  on  the  poetry  of  Milton  which  I  have  written  at  the  de- 
sire of  Cadell  and  Davies  for  a  new  pocket  edition.  I  think  it 
is  my  best  performance  of  the  kind.  You  see  I  am  not  idle.  In- 
deed I  have  more  than  one  necessity  for  working,  and  I  wish 
not  to  live  longer  than  I  can  use  my  pen." 

The  Essay  on  the  Poetry  of  Milton  is  inserted  in  the  present 
collection ;  and  I  imagine  it  will  be  thought  to  justify  the  prefe- 
rence of  the  author.  He  spared  no  efforts  to  raise  himself  "  to  the 
height  of  this  great  argument,"  and  the  syle  is  wrought  up  not 
into  elegance  merely,  but  brilliancy. 

To  the  summer  of  this  year  belongs  the  story  of  a  visit,  detailed 
in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Barbauld,  which  no  reader  of  sensibility,  it  is 
believed,  would  wish  omitted. 

"  Harborough,  July  7th. 

"  Would  you  have  thought  me,  my  dear  sister,  a  likely  man 
for  such  a  flight  of  sentiment,  as  that,  being  somewhat  above 
forty  miles  from  Kibworth,  I  could  not  forbear  visiting  it?  In 
fact,  it  had  long  been  the  subject  of  my  waking  and  sleeping 
thoughts,  especially  of  the  latter,  and  I  was  resolved  to  give  way 
to  the  impulse.  So  yesterday  after  dinner  I  left  G — 's  mounted 
on  his  old  mare,  which  I  had  tried  before  in  a  couple  of  short  ex- 
cursions,— and  boldly  pushed  on  for  Kettering,  27  miles,  that 
evening.  This  morning,  starting  early,  I  came  to  Harborough  to 
breakfast,  and  thence,  with  beating  heart,  rode  the  five  miles  to 
Kibworth.  The  church  is  visible  the  greatest  part  of  the  way, 
so  that  my  approaches  were  very  gradual.  I  had  even  sangfroid 
enough  to  turn  off  first  to  Lower  Kibworth,  by  way  of  abridging 
the  round.  One  of  the  first  objects  that  met  my  eyes  was  Cap- 
tain Dawes's  old  mansion  with  all  the  windows  boarded  up,  and 
apparently  quite  deserted.  It  struck  a  damp  on  my  spirits,  from 
which,  however,  1  recovered  on  learning  from  some  workmen  that 
it  was  fitting  up  for  a  new  occupant.  I  was  here  told  on  inqui- 
ry that  a  Mr.  Goodman,  a  farmer,  lived  at  Smeaton.  Supposing 
he  was  our  old  Betty's  husband,  I  rode  on  ;  but  on  coming  to  the 
house,  I  found  a  good  old  couple  indeed,  but  only  by  name  arid 
acquaintance  connected  with  our  friends.  I  was,  however,  cor- 
dially received,  for  they  knew  our  family,  and  the  man  remem- 
bered me  coming  to  church  with  my  father.  After  a  while,  came 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  135 

in  their  son,  the  curate  of  the  parish,  a  decent  young  man,  who 
lives  with  his  wife  in  the  new  and  handsome  parsonage  house, 
I  was  informed  that  the  ether  Goodman's  now  lived  at  Gunaley, 
which  was  too  much  out  of  the  way  for  a  visit. 

"I  found  that  I  had  no  acquaintance  living  at  Kibworth;  so 
mounting  again,  I  made  a  slow  circuit  quite  through  the  town, 
which  I  found  vastly  lessened  in  my  eyes ;  yet  our  old  house  still 
makes  a  respectable  figure.  It  is  inhabited  by  the  widow  Hum- 
phreys. The  casement  windows  and  balcony  remain  as  before. 

"I  made  a  complete  tour  of  the  churchyard,  and  recognised 
many  familiar  names  among  the  tombs,  but  was  disappointed  in 
not  meeting  with  that  of  our  grandfather.  Had  he  a  monument? 
There  were  several  become  illegible  through  a  coating  of  moss. 

"  Such  has  been  my  visit  to  the  native  village.  I  am  not  sorry 
I  made  it,  though  I  sarcely  know  whether  to  call  the  impression 
on  the  whole  agreeable  or  otherwise." 

Dr.  Aikin  now  accepted  the  editorship  of  a  proposed  new  edi- 
tion of  Dr.  Johnson's  poets,  with  considerable  additions  and  al- 
terations. The  plan  was,  for  the  editor  to  subjoin  to  the  bio- 
graphical and  critical  prefaces  of  Dr.  Johnson  such  remarks, 
either  by  way  of  supplement  or  correction,  as  he  should  judge 
proper,  to  reject  entirely  some  articles,  and  to  supply  new  pre- 
faces to  the  works  of  such  poets,  not  included  in  the  former  col- 
lection, as  it  should  be  judged  expedient  to  comprise  in  a  new 
one.  The  strange  omission  of  the  author  of  the  Faery  Queen  by 
Dr.  Johnson, — an  unpardonable  instance  either  of  neglect  or  pre- 
judice,— was  the  first  deficiency  which  he  found  to  supply;  and 
it  was  for  this  purpose  that  he  composed  the  Account  of  the  Life 
and  Works  of  Spenser  which  stands  at  the  head  of  his  critical 
pieces  contained  in  the  present  volume.  Of  this  intended  col- 
lection of  English  poetry,  fourteen  octavo  volumes  had  been 
printed,  comprising  the  works  of  Spenser,  Butler,  Cowley,  and 
Milton,  when  the  circumstances  of  the  publisher  put  a  stop  to  the 
undertaking.  The  remarks  respecting  the  three  last  named 
poets  added  by  my  father,  seemed  to  me  incapable  of  appearing 
with  advantage  detached  from  the  prefaces  by  Dr.  Johnson,  and 
they  are  therefore  not  here  reprinted. 

In  the  intervals  of  his  regular  occupations  during  the  yeai 
1801,  Dr.  Aikin  composed  for  the  use  of  young  people,  a  very 
instructive  little  volume  entitled  The  Arts  of  Life.  It  is  in  the 
form  of  Letters,  and  under  the  three  heads  of  food,  clothing  and 


154  MEMOIR  OF 

shelter,  gives  a  clear  and  elegant  view  both  of  the  arts  of  first 
necessity,  and  of  those  ministering  to  the  comfort  and  conve- 
nience of  man.  The  knowledge  which  it  contains  is  very  va- 
rious and  extensive,  and  of  a  kind  which  the  books  for  young 
people  do  not  usually  afford ;  and  it  is  well  calculated  to  excite 
that  spirit  of  observation  which  the  writer  considered  it  as  one  of 
the  leading  objects  of  education  to  inculcate.  A  further  contri- 
bution to  this  effect  was  his  Woodland  Companion ;  or  a  brief 
description  of  British  trees,  with  some  account  of  their  uses  ;  pub- 
lished a  few  months  afterwards.  The  subject  was  an  old  fa- 
vourite, as  appears  from  hia  elegant  paper  on  the  notices  of  trees 
in  the  Latin  poets ;  and,  in  fact,  the  first  sketch  of  the  work  had 
long  been  lying  by  him,  in  the  form  of  a  brief  botanical  descrip- 
tion of  trees,  illustrated  with  neat  drawings  by  his  own  hand ; 
copied,  I  believe,  as  were  the  plates  in  the  printed  work,  from 
Dr.  Hunter's  edition  of  Evelyn's  Sylva.  He  now  however  great- 
ly enlarged  his  design,  and  embellished  it,  in  his  usual  manner, 
with  quotations  from  the  English  poets. 

About  this  time  he  received  a  very  unexpected  proof  of  the 
continued  regard  of  one  of  the  friends  of  his  youth,  in  a  bequest 
of  1,000/.  4  per  cents  from  Dr.  Pulteney,  then  of  Bland  ford  in 
Dorsetshire ;  with  whom  he  had  enjoyed  no  personal,  and  very 
little  epistolary  intercourse,  since  they  had  parted  at  Leicester 
eight-and -thirty  years  before.  The  circumstance  touched  him 
very  sensibly ;  and  the  more,  because  he  always  ascribed  it  rather 
to  Dr.  Pulteney's  reverence  and  affection  for  the  memory  of  his 
father,  than  to  his  esteem  for  himself,  whom  he  had  known  only 
as  a  youth.  The  merits  of  Dr.  Pulteney  as  a  physician,  and  es- 
pecially as  a  botanist,  could  not  be  allowed  to  pass  altogether 
unrecorded;  and  he  had  great  satisfaction  in  paying  the  tribute 
to  his  memory  of  a  short  memoir,  originally  published  in  the 
Philosophical  Magazine,  and  now  reprinted.* 

The  cordial  friendship  entertained  by  Dr.  Aikin  for  Mr.  Wake- 
field,  almost  from  the  commencement  of  their  acquaintance  at 
Warrington,  has  been  already  recorded  ;  and  the  renewal  of  their 
social  intercourse  has  been  adverted  to  as  one  of  the  circum- 
stances which  he  anticipated  with  the  warmest  satisfaction  on 
taking  up  his  residence  in  London.  It  will  therefore  be  readily 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  135 

conceived,  that  he  had  felt  the  sentence  which  doomed  Mr. 
Wakefield,  as  the  author  of  a  pamphlet  judged  libellous,  to  an 
imprisonment  of  two  years  in  Dorchester  Castle,  almost  as  a  per- 
sonal misfortune.  His  joy  on  the  approaching  liberation  ot  his 
friend  was  proportionally  lively ;  and  it  was  well  expressed  in 
the  following  lines,  published  in  the  Monthly  Magazine-,  in  which 
it  will  however  be  observed,  that  some  prudential  counsels  are 
gently  insinuated  amid  the  sincere  expression  of  esteem  and  af- 
fection. 

TO  GILBERT  WAKEFIELD,  A.  B. 

ON  HIS  LIBERATION  FROM  PRISON. 

Pure  light  of  learning,  soul  of  generous  mould, 
Ardent  in  Truth's  great  cause,  erect  and  free, 
Welcome,  O  welcome!  from  thy  prison  gloom, 
To  open  air  and  sunshine,  to  those  boons 
Which  Nature  sheds  profuse,  while  tyrant  Man, 
<f  Drest  in  his  brief  authority ,"aud  stern 
In  alt  the  little  jealousy  of  pow'r, 
Restricts  the  bounty  of  a  Father's  hand, 
And  scants  a  Brother's  bliss."      'But  now  'tis  o'er, 
And  social  friendship  and  domestic  love 
Shall  pour  their  healing  balm  ;  while  conscious  worth 
With  noble  scorn  repels  the  sland'rous  charge, 
That  brands  imprudence  with  the  stamp  of  guilt. 
Meantime  disdain  not,  learned  as  thou  art, 
To  scan  this  world's  great  lesson  :  high-raised  hopes 
Of  Justice  seated  on  the  throne  of  Pow'r, 
Of  bright  Astrea's  reign  revived,  and  Peace, 
With  heavenly  Truth  and  Virtue  by  her  side, 
Uniting  nations  in  a  band  of  love, 
Have  faded  all  to  air ;  and  nought  remains 
But  that  dire  law  of  force,  whose  iron  sway 
The  sons  of  men  through  every  blood-stain'd  age 
Has  ruled  reluctant.     AVhen  that  sage  benign, 
The  Man  of  Nazareth,  preach'd  his  gentle  law, 
And  listening  crowds  drank  honey  from  his  tongue- 
WThen  Mars,  Bellona,  and  the  savage  rout 
Of  Gods  impure  and  vengeful,  shrunk  to  shades, 
And  rescued  Man  adored  a  common  sire ; 
Who  could  refrain  to  hail  the  blessed  time 
Of  swords  to  sickles  turn'd,  of  general  good 
Pour'd  in  full  streams  through  all  the  human  tribes, 
And  shared  alike  by  all  ?    But  ah !  how  soon 
The  glorious  prospect  darken'd !    When  the  cross 
Gleam'd  direful  'mid  the  host  of  Constantine, 
And  took  the  eagle's  place — when  mitred  pries'.? 
Miruick'd  the  flaraen  in  his  mystic  pomp, 


136  MEMOIR  OF 

And  proudly  bent  around  a  despot's  throne  ; 
Then,  whilst  the  name  at  Antioch  first  rever'd 
Kan  conquering  thro'  the  world,  it  lost  its  sense, 
And  join'd  in  monstrous  league  with  all  the  crimes 
That  force,  and  fraud,  and  lawless  lust  of  swav 
Inspir'd  to  plague  mankind.    Then,  Gospel  rules 
Were  held  an  empty  letter  ;  and  the  grave 
And  specious  commentator  well  could  prove 
That  such  an  holy,  humble,  peaceful  law 
Was  never  meant  for  empire.    Thus  relaps'd, 
The  human  brute  resumed  his  native  form, 
And  prey'd  again  on  carnage. 

Cease  then,  my  Friend,  thy  generous,  hopeless  aim, 
"Nor  to  unfeeling  Folly  yield  again 
Her  darling  sight,  of  Genius  turn'd  to  scorn, 
And  Virtue  pining  in  the  cell  of  guilt. 
Desert  no  more  the  Muse  ;  unfold  the  stores 
Of  fertile  Greece  and  Latium  ;  free  each  gem 
From  the  dark  crust  that  shrowds  its  beauteous  beams. 
And  fair  present  them  to  th'  admiring  eye 
Arranged  in  kindred  lustre.    Take  serene 
The  tranquil  blessings  that  thy  lot  aftbrds, 
And  in  the  soothing  voice  of  friendship  drown 
The  groans,  and  shouts,  and  triumph  of  the  world. 

Mr.  Wakefield  replied  in  the  following  warm  lines 
TO  JOHN  AIKIN,  M.D. 

Next  to  that  first  of  comforts  to  the  soul, 
The  plaudit  of  a  conscience  self-approv'd, 
AIKIN  !  1  deem  the  gratulation  sw^et 
Of  sympathising  friendship,  and  a  Muse 
Terse,  uncorrupt,  ingenuous,  bold  and  free  ; 
A  Muse  from  whom  nor  titled  grandeur  bribes, 
Nor  pamper'd  wealth,  a  sacrificial  strain. 
Hence,  with  sensations  bland  of  conscious  pride 
I  feel  the  manna  of  thy  tuneful  tongue 
Drop  medicinal  influence  on  my  breast, 
Ruffled,  not  torn,  by  Persecution's  blast. 
Thus,  after  chilling  frost,  morn's  genial  ray 
Invigorates,  cheers,  expands,  the  shrivell'd  flower  : 
Thus  the  broad  mountain  flings  his  cooling  shade 
O'er  the  faint  pilgrim  in  a  thirsty  land. 
Oh  !  may  thy  friend,  as  in  the  noon  of  life, 
Responsive  to  the  calls  of  truth  and  Man, 
Self  in  benevolence  absorb'd  and  lost, 
Thro'  the  short  remnant  of  his  closing  day, 
With  brave  defiance,  or  with  calm  disdain, 
Front  the  grim  visage  of  despotic  power, 
Lawless,  self-will'd,  fierce,  merciless,  corrupt; 
Nor,  'midst  the  applauses  of  the  wise  and  good, 
Lose  the  fond  greetings  of  a  Muse  like  thine  ! 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  137 

Too  truly,  alas  !  did  this  excellent  man  here  speak  of  the 
'  short  remnant  of  his  closing  day!'  Not  three  months  after 
these  lines  were  written,  the  friends  to  whom  he  had  just  been 
restored,  were  called  upon  to  resign  him  for  ever.  He  was  car- 
ried off  by  a  fever,  the  fatal  termination  of  which  was  anticipat- 
ed by  himself  from  the  beginning.  When  the  friends  who  sur- 
rounded his  bedside  were  anxiously  striving  to  remove  a  melan- 
choly prepossession  which  they  could  not  admit  to  be  well 
founded,  some  one  mentioning  my  father,  he  eagerly  exclaimed; 
— "  Yes,  let  me  see  Dr.  Aikin,  I  know  he  will  tell  me  the  tnuh  !" 
He  was  immediately  sent  for,  but  came  only  to  deplore  the  rapid 
advance  of  the  inevitable  catastrophe.  To  do,  at  aH  hazards, 
immediate  justice  to  the  memory  at  least  of  such  a  man,  my  fa- 
ther felt  to  be  a  sacred  duty.  How  he  has  performed  it,  will 
best  be  learned  from  his  own  pen.* 

But  his  sympathy  with  genius  and  virtue  was  not  dependent 
on  the  emotions  of  friendship,  and  he  was  about  the  same  time 
gratified  with  an  occasion  of  paying  a  tribute  to  these  qualities 
in  the  person  of  a  stranger.  At  Liskeard  in  Cornwall,  there  had 
long  existed,  buried  in  the  most  profound  obscurity,  the  Rev. 
Henry  Moore,  a  dissenting  minister  of  deep  learning,  particu- 
larly in  biblical  criticism,  and  of  exemplary  piety  and  worth. 
These  qualities  were  recognised  in  him  by  a  few  brother  minis- 
ters and  by  the  very  small  circle  of  his  congregation  arid  ac- 
quaintance ;  but  that  he  possessed,  and  had  diligently  cultivated, 
the  talents  of  a  poet  of  an  elevated  class,  was  scarcely  known  to 
two  or  three  individuals*  At  length  the  good  man,  irresistibly 
won  to  confidence  by  the  amiable  and  gratifying  attentions  of  a 
lettered  friend  who  sometimes  visited  him  in  his  retreat, — the 
late  lamented  Dr.  Pett  of  Clapton, — placed  in  his  hands  "a 
volume  of  MS.  poems,  which,  with  singular  modesty,  he  request- 
ed him  to  show  to  some  person  sufficiently  conversant  with  pro- 
ductions of  the  kind,  to  judge  of  their  fitness  for  the  public  eye." 
The  affecting  sequel  is  thus  related  in  the  preface  with  which 
Dr.  Aikin  introduced  these  poems  to  the  public.  "  I  was  applied 
to  on  the  occasion ;  and  I  trust  the  readers  of  these  pieces  will 
be  convinced  that  I  could  not  hesitate  in  giving  a  dicided  opin- 
ion in  their  favour.  In  reality,  I  scarcely  ever  experienced  a 


Appendix  (E.) 


138  MEMOIR  OF 

greater  and  more  agreeable  surprise,  than  on  the  discovery  of  so 
rich  a  mine  of  poetry,  where  I  had  not  the  least  intimation  of  its 
existence.  That  the  author  should  have  passed  seventy  years  of 
life  almost  totally  unknown,  was  a  circumstance  that  excited  the 
interest  of  all  to  whom  the  poems  were  communicated  ;  and  we 
were  impatient  that,  however  late,  he  should  enjoy  those  rewards 
of  merit  which  had  been  so  long  withheld.  In  the  mean  time,  he 
was  attacked  with  a  severe  stroke  of  the  palsy,  which,  while  it 
left  his  intellects  free,  incapacitated  him  from  every  exertion. 
There  was  now  no  time  to  be  lost.  My  offer  of  taking  upon  my- 
self the  whole  care  of  editorship  was  thankfully  accepted  ;  and 
a  subscription  was  set  on  foot  which  met  with  the  warm  support 
of  many  who  were  desirous  that  all  possible  comfort  should  be 
supplied  to  cheer  the  helpless  decline  of  such  a  man.  But  the 
progress  of  debility  anticipated  these  well  intended  efforts.  He 
sunk  tranquilly  under  his  disease  on  Nov.  2,  1802,  having,  how- 
ever, lived  to  enjoy  some  satisfaction  from  the  knowledge  that 
there  were  persons  wrhom  he  had  never  seen,  who  could  regard 
him  with  cordial  esteem  and  friendship." 

These  poems,  consisting  chiefly  of  odes,  elegies,  and  hymns, 
rich  and  ornate  in  their  diction,  and  strongly  impressed  with  the 
noblest  sentiments  of  virtae  and  the  warm  spirit  of  devotion, 
were  well  received  by  a  certain  class  of  readers,  and  passed 
through  two  editions. 

My  father's  health  was  now  vigorous ;  and  he  was  able  with- 
out inconvenience  to  gratify  himself  with  little  tours  through  in- 
teresting parts  of  the  country  which  were  new  to  him.  These 
were  always  performed  in  an  open  chaise,  with  my  mother  for  his 
companion;  and  were  repeated  annually  during  a  considerable 
period.  His  ardent  love  of  the  varied  face  of  rural  nature,  and 
the  talent  for  observation  which  distinguished  him,  rendered 
these  little  excursions,  of  which  he  always  made  copious  journals, 
the  source  of  instruction  as  well  as  delight ;  and  his  contribu- 
tions to  the  Magazine  were  frequently  varied  by  the  description 
of  objects  which  had  thus  fallen  under  his  attention. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  publication  of  the  Biography,  which  was 
regulated  by  the  convenience  of  the  bookseller,  went  on  at  a  rate 
which  allowed  him  ample  intervals  of  leisure  for  other  pursuits. 
A  French  translation  from  the  German  of  Zschokke's  History  of 
the  invasion  of  Switzerland  by  the  French,  andllw  destruction  of 
the  democrafical  republics  of  8chwi/zt  Uri,  and  Unfcricalden,com' 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  139 

ing  accidentally  into  his  hands,  the  deep  interest  of  the  narrative 
of  that  heroical  struggle  for  national  independence,  so  engaged 
his  feelings,  that  he  resolved  to  give  a  translation  of  the  work, 
with  a  preface,  and  a  supplement  bringing  down  the  history  of 
the  democratic  cantons  to  the  restoration  of  their  ancient  form 
of  government,  which  the  First  Consul  had  finally  acknowledged 
the  expediency  of  permitting. 

The  preface  thus  strongly  expresses  the  sentiments  with  which 
its  author  regarded  the  progress  of  the  military  despot  who  was 
then  effecting  the  subjugation  of  the  continent  and  menacing  the 
invasion  of  Great  Britain: — 

"The  publication  of  this  work  in  English  at  the  present  period 
was  thought  peculiarly  calculated  to  promote  that  spirit  of  re- 
sistance to  unprincipled  ambition,  and  the  schemes  of  universal 
domination,  which  is  alone  to  be  relied  upon  in  the  arduous  con- 
test in  which  the  nation  is  now  engaged.  The  history  of  the 
memorable  struggle  here  recorded  will  shew  what  a  people,  very 
inconsiderable  in  point  of  wealth  and  number,  was  able  to  do  in 
checking  the  progress  of  a  host  of  invaders,  by  the  mere  force  of 
native  courage  and  the  enthusiastic  love  of  liberty  and  their 

country Moreover,  it  cannot  fail  to  impress  every  generous 

mind  with  an  indignant  sense  of  the  insolence  of  a  lawless  co?i~ 
queror,  and  the  degradation  incurred  by  a  vanquished  and  sub- 
jugated people The  renovation  of  the  democratical  cantons, 

partial  and  imperfect  as  it  may  be,  will  present  the  useful  les- 
son, that  determined  valour  secures  the  esteem  even  of  those 
against  whom  it  is  exerted,  and  softens  that  fate  which  it  may  not 
have  been  able  to  avert." 

Towards  the  latter  end  of  the  same  year,  1803,  he  occupied 
himself  in  the  composition  of  a  volume  of  Letters  to  a  young 
Lady  on  a  course  of  English  Poetry  ; — an  agreeable  proof  of  the 
undiminished  zeal  with  which  he  exerted  himself  to  diffuse  a 
love  and  knowledge  of  that  noble  art  from  which,  during  life,  he 
had  himself  derived  such  pure  and  elevated  delight. 

His  next  contribution  to  poetical  criticism  was  an  essay  pre- 
fixed to  an  edition  of  Dryden's  Fables,  which  he  esteemed  it  a 
service  to  the  general  reader  to  separate  from  the  obsolescent 
mass  of  Dryden's  political  and  controversial  pieces.  He  has 
pointed  out  the  excellencies  of  these  delightful  narratives  with 
the  truest  taste  and  feeling;  and  his  comparisons  with  the  finish- 
ed work  of  Dryden  with  the  sketches  supplied  him  by  his  origi- 


140  MEMOIR  OF 

nals,  will  be  found  curious  and  interesting.  About  the  same 
time,  he  gave  a  new' and  improved  edition  of  his  translations  of 
the  Life  of  Agricola,  and  the  Manners  of  the  Germans  ;  and  un- 
dertook a  work  which  requires  a  more  extended  notice,  entitled, 
Geographical  Delineations,  or  a  Compendious  View  of  the  Natu- 
ral and  Political  Stale  of  all  parts  of  the  Globe 

"The  precise  object  aimed  at  in  this  work,"  says  the  author 
in  his  preface,  <fis  to  afford,  in  a  moderate  compass,  and  under 
an  agreeable  form,  such  a  view  of  every  thing  most  important  re- 
lative to  the  natural  and  political  state  of  the  world  which  we 
inhabit,  as  may  dwell  upon  the  mind  in  vivid  colours,  and  dura- 
bly impress  it  with  just  and  instructive  notions.  In  the  prose- 
cution of  this  design,  I  have  been  guided  by  the  two  leading  con- 
siderations respecting  each  country,  what  nature  has  made  it, 

and  what  man  has  made  it Both  together  have  as  much  as 

possible  been  brought  to  conspire  in  forming  the  characteristic 

strokes  of  the  sketch No  particular  class  or  age  of  readers 

has  been  in  my  view  in  this  performance.  If  it  prove  answerable 
to  my  intentions,  young  persons  of  both  sexes,  at  the  period  of 
finishing  their  education,  may  peruse  it  with  advantage,  as  a  sum- 
mary of  vv  hat  is  most  important  to  be  remembered  relative  to  the 
topics  treated  of;  and  it  may  afford  compendious  information 
and  matter  for  reflection  to  those  of  riper  years,  who  are  desti- 
tute of  time  and  opportunity  for  copious  research." 

From  this  statement  it  will  be  perceived,  that  it  is  a  leading 
object  of  this  performance  to  communicate  those  enlarged  views 
respecting  the  globe  and  its  divisions,  with  their  various  occu- 
pants, which  may  rightly  be  called  the  philosophy  of  geography. 
Its  place,  then,  is  neither  among  the  regular  systems  of  this  sci- 
ence, nor  among  their  abridgments  for  the  use  of  schools; — it 
stands  by  itself,  and  is  designed  to  follow,  or  accompany,  not  su- 
persede, these  works.  That  the  matter  of  fact  which  forms  the 
basis  of  the  design  must  be  derived  from  books,  is  almost  too  ob- 
vious to  be  stated  ;  it  was,  in  truth,  the  product  of  a  very  exten- 
sive course  of  reading;  but  not  only  the  language,  but  those  re- 
flections which  form  what  may  be  termed  the  soul  and  spirit  of 
the  work,  are  entirely  the  author's  own.  In  tracing  these  out- 
lint  maps  of  knowledge,  it  has  formerly  been  observed  that  he 
peculiarly  excelled  ;  and  the  neatness  and  elegance  of  his  exe- 
cution is,  in  my  opinion,  no  where  more  conspicuous  than  in  the 
piece  before  us.  The  plan  was  a  favourite  one,  and  he  worked 


DR.  JOHN  AlKIN.  141 

upon  it  with  ease  and  spirit.  In  all  the  branches  of  knowledge 
to  which  he  applied  his  mind,  it  was  characteristic  of  him,  leav- 
ing abstruse  theories  and  difficult  problems  on  one  hand,  and 
dry  details  on  the  other,  to  seek  in  a  middle  course  the  useful 
and  the  agreeable  combined.  Such  has  been  his  proceeding  in  tra- 
cing his  (reographical  Delineations ;  and  1  know  none  of  his 
undertakings  in  which  he  has  more  completely  accomplished  his 
object. 

Many  of  Dr.  Aikin's  works  have  been  re-printed  in  the  United 
States,  and  an  edition  of  this  appeared  at  Philadelphia  in  1807, 
with  a  scientific  introduction  and  appendix,  and  copious  addi- 
tions to  the  original  account  of  North  America. 

A  few  notices  of  the  progress  of  his  feelings  and  opinions  may 
be  gleaned  from  the  letters  addressed  to  Dr.  Haygarth  about 
this  period.  At  the  close  of  1802,  after  observing  that  he  had 
passed  a  pleasant  year,  in  perfect  health  and  spirits,  and  advert- 
ing to  the  welcome  addition  which  had  been  made  to  his  habitual 
society  by  the  removal  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Barbauld  from  Hamp- 
stead  to  Newington, — he  thus  proceeds  : 

"  So  you  have  the  great  ex-minister  at  Bath  !  Pray  have  you 
the  honour  of  attending  upon  him  ?  Though  I  am  not  an  implicit 
admirer  of  his  political  conduct,  I  should  be  much  gratified  to 
hear  him  in  a  private  room,  for  without  doubt  he  is  no  ordinary 
man.  The  present  state  of  things  has  brought  me  into' an  indiffer- 
ence to  every  thing  public,  which  I  cherish  as  the  euthanasia  of 
all  that  was  uneasily  active  ia  my  cosmopolitical  character.  I 
have  settled  into  a  conviction  that  England  is  the  best  country 
in  the  world,  that  he  is  the  best  minister  who  lays  the  fewest 
taxes,  and  that  the  truest  wisdom,  public  and  private,  is  to  enjoy 
present  good  and  avoid  rJresent  evil.  I  am  cured  of  all  theore- 
tical ideas  of  reform  ;  and  if  I  am  not  convinced  that  all  is  as  it 
should  be,  at  least  I  doubt  whether  it  can  be  belter.  What  re- 
mains with  me,  is  a  wish  that  we  should  not  make  that  retro- 
grade motion  with  respect  to  light  and  freedom  which  many  seem 
desirous  of  promoting:  but,  after  all,  bigots  cannot  extinguish  the 
freedom  of  the  mind,  and  the  fewer  that  partake  of  it,  the  more 
honourable  the  distinction. 

"Our  ftiend has  returned  from  abroad  as  much  an  Anti- 

gallican  as  one  could  wish.  He  cannot  be  more  so  than  I  am, 
and  I  have  not  the  least  inclination  to  imitate  the  example  of 
several  of  my  friends,  and  visit  France,  with  all  its  wonders.  If 


142  MEMOIR  OF 

I  can  find  leisure  for  a  little  domestic  jaunt  every  summer,  1 
shall  be  satisfied.  We  do  inhabit  a  charming  country, — that  is 
the  truth  of  it, — and  I  wish  I  could  visit  every  part  of  it." 

In  the  following  summer,  after  expressing  the  satisfaction  and 
pride  with  which  he  beheld  all  his  sons  in  the  ranks  of  the  vo- 
lunteers enrolled  to  resist  French  invasion,  he  adds: — "The 
present  ardour  and  unanimity  in  defence  appears  to  me  highly 
honourable  to  the  national  character,  and  I  trust  will  produce 
the  effect  either  of  preventing  or  defeating  the  schemes  of  our 
enemies.  I  confess,  I  wish  we  had  a  clearer  cause,  upon  paper, 
for  our  hostilities  ;  but  the  sacred  duty  of  defence  against  an  in- 
veterate foe  can  never  be  questioned." 

A  letter  dated  in  May  1804,  thus  records  his  genuine  impres- 
sions respecting  the  character  of  Dr.  Priestley,  the  tidings  of 
whose  death  in  the  United  States  had  been  recently  conveyed  to 
England  : — 

"  Possibly  you  may  have  seen  in  the  Monthly  Magazine  a  late 
biographical  exertion  of  mine  in  commemoration  of  Dr.  Priest- 
ley. I  meant  it  as  a  plain  narrative,  rather  than  an  eulogy  or  an 
apology,  except  that  I  was  desirous  of  strongly  inculcating  a 
conviction  of  his  perfect  sincerity  in  all  he  wrote,  and  of  the  pu- 
rity of  his  motives.  I  always  lamented,  as  I  believe  you  did, 
that  he  should  have  spent  the  force  of  his  powerful  mind  upon 
the  subjects  which  most  engaged  his  attention ;  but  he  had  a 
right  to  decide  for  himself,  and  no  man  was  ever  more  beyond 
the  influence  of  persuasion."* 

In  the  autumn  of  1805,  the  death  of  the  excellent  Dr.  Carrie 
again  imposed  upon  him  the  melancholy  duty  of  commemorating 
the  talents  and  virtues  of  a  departed  friend.  Since  the  period  of 
his  quitting  Warrington,  he  had  only  once,  on  a  hasty  visit  of 
Dr.  Currie's  to  London,  enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  an  interview 
with  one  whose  society  was  so  peculiarly  formed  to  interest  and 
delight  him  ; — but  the  deep  impression  of  their  early  intercourse 
had  never  faded  from  either  mind  ;  and  Dr.  Aikin  was  one  of  the 
two  persons  to  whom  Dr.  Currie,  in  an  affecting  kind  of  literary 
testament  traced  with  his  dying  hand,  committed  the  care  of  his 
surviving  fame,  previously  requesting,  that  if  there  were  any 
memoir  of  him,  it  might  be  "  short  and  delicate.'9  So  commis- 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  ^  143 

sioned,  my  father  could  not  hesitate  to  comply  with  the  request 
of  the  family  iii  giving  the  brief  account  which  his  opportunities 
enabled  him  to  compose  ;  earnestly  hoping  at  the  same  time  that 
fuller  justice  would  subsequently  be  done  to  the  subject,  by  the 
distinguished  friend  whose  name  was  constantly  associated  with 
that  of  Currie  in  every  generous  plan  of  private  benevolence  or 
public  good.* 

It  was  a  striking  proof  of  the  enlarged  and  philosophical  spirit 
which  had  presided  over  Dr.  Aikin's  critical  pursuits,  that  his 
mind  always  remained  open  to  the  claims  of  fresh  candidates  for 
literary  fame.  A.  new  poet  was  to  him  like  a  new  star  in  the 
horizon  of  the  astronomer,  and  he  rejoiced  and  triumphed  in  the 
brightness  of  its  beams.  Thus,  no  predilection  for  an  earlier 
school  of  poetry,  had  prevented  his  doing  full  justice  to  that 
which  owed  its  origin  to  the  genius  of  Mr.  Southey  and  Mr. 
Coleridge;  and  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  he  availed  himself 
of  one  of  the  most  respectable  sources  of  periodical  criticism,  to 
express  his  warm  sense  of  the  poetical  powers  displayed  in  some 
of  the  earliest  productions  of  these  gentlemen.  With"  Mr. 
Southey  he  had  afterwards  much  satisfaction  in  cultivating  a 
personal  acquaintance,  and  he  entertained  for  him  the  true  in- 
terest of  a  friend.  I  well  remember,  too,  the  eager  delight  with 
which  he  first  caught  the  animated  strains  of  the  Lay  of  the  last 
Minstrel,  which  he  used  to  characterise  as  the  perfection  of  bal- 
lad poetry ;  and  the  high  admiration,  the  deep  though  somewhat 
painful  interest,  with  which  he  received  the  early  cantos  of 
Childe  Harold. 

In  general,  it  may  safely  be  affirmed  that  there  was  no  poeti- 
cal merit  of  his  time  to  which  he  was  indifferent ;  but  about  this 
period  there  arose  a  poet  who  engaged  his  attention  in  a  peculiar 
manner; — this  was  Mr.  Montgomery.  In  the  Wanderer  of 
Switzerland,  and  the  smaller  pieces  by  which  it  was  accompa- 
nied, he  discovered  a  freshness  of  fancy  and  a  depth  of  feeling 
which  in  his  judgment  stamped  them  as  true  works  of  genius; 
at  the  same  time,  the  tone  of  melancholy  which  pervaded  them 
was  too  genuine  and  too  profound,  not  to  excite  his  sympathy. 
As  it  appeared  that  one  at  least  among  the  causes  of  the  author's 
dejection  was  the  world's  neglect,  he  endeavoured  to  cheer  him 


Appendix  (C.) 


144  MEMOIR  OF 

by  a  few  laudatory  stanzas  on  his  poems,  inserted  in  the  Jlthe- 
nseum.  By  means  of  a  common  friend,  Mr.  Montgomery  was 
soon  apprised  to  whom  he  owed  this  poetical  greeting,  and  he 
wrote  a  letter  of  acknowledgment;  this  was  immediately  an- 
swered by  Dr  Aikin,  and  thus  commenced  a  correspondence 
which  was  carried  on  for  a  considerable  time,  with  great  spirit, 
and  with  much  frank  and  interesting  disclosure  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Montgomery  respecting  his  early  life  and  the  formation  of 
his  literary  character,  without  any  personal  intercourse  between, 
the  parties.  At  length,  Mr.  Montgomery  visited  London,  and 
a  meeting  took  place,  which  proved  mutually  satisfactory  and 
agreeable,  notwithstanding  the  romantic  expectations  which  the 
previous  circumstances  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  excite. 
After  some  time  the  correspondence  languished,  but  from  no 
other  cause  than  a  want  of  topics  of  common  interest ;  my  fa- 
ther's esteem  for  Mr.  Montgomery  always  continued  unabated, 
and  he  never  spoke  of  their  intercourse  but  with  sincere  plea- 
sure^ 

Early  in  the  year  1806,  my  father's  connection  ceased  with 
the  Monthly  Magazine,  and  he  immediately  engaged  in  the  esta- 
blishment of  a  new  periodical  work,  on  what  he  regarded  as  an 
improved  plan,  entitled  The  Jlthenxum.  The  thorough  respec- 
tability of  the  publishers  concerned,  and  their  entire  forbearance 
of  every  kind  of  interference  with  the  management  of  the  editor, 
rendered  his  concern  in  this  undertaking  a  source  of  great  satis- 
faction to  him  ;  and  no  pains  were  wanting  on  his  part  to  render 
it  successful.  He  obtained  the  assistance  of  many  highly  respec- 
table literary  friends,  and  several  months  were  almost  entirely 
occupied  by  himself  in  preparations  for  the  work,  of  which  the 
first  number  appeared  on  the  last  day  of  1806.  It  was  carried 
on  during  two  years  and  a  half,  when  the  proprietors,  not  finding 
the  sale  answerable  to  their  expectations,  gave  it  up  :  the  ele- 
gant style  in  which  the  Mien&um  was  printed,  which  rendered 
it  considerably  more  expensive  than  any  other  monthly  publica- 
tion of  a  similar  nature,  appears  to  have  been  the  principal  cause 
of  its  failure. 

One  family  event  of  this  year  may  be  adverted  to,  on  account 
of  the  lively  satisfaction  with  which  it  was  welcomed  by  Dr. 
Aikin,  and  the  large  addition  which  it  made  to  his  happiness  and 
that  of  all  who  were  dearest  to  him.  This  was  the  marriage  of 
his  son  Charles  to  the  eldest  daughter  of  Mr.  Wakefield  ;  in 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  145 

whom  we  had  the  rare  felicity  to  find  the  high-souled  integrity 
and  noble  ingenuousness  which  marked  her  for  the  child  and  pu- 
pil of  such  a  parent,  in  union  with 

"  all  that  cultured  taste  approves, 

Or  fond  affection  dearly  loves." 

For  fifteen  years  we  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  her  delightful  and 
affectionate  society, — her  memory  we  can  never  lose. 

The  death  of  the  Rev.  G.  Walker  in  1807,  the  last  survivor  of 
the  tutors  of  Warrington  academy,  gave  occasion  to  a  short  me- 
moir of  him  by  Dr.  Aikin  originally  printed  in  The  Athenaeum.* 

During  a  suspension  of  the  publication  of  the  Biography  in 
1809,  Dr.  Aikin  employed  himself  in  translating  from  the  Latin 
Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  P.  D.  Huet,  Bishop  of  branches,  written 
by  himself.  The  work  was  inscribed  to  Mr.  Roscoe  in  an  affec- 
tionate dedication,  and  enriched  with  an  introduction  concern- 
ing the  state  of  learning  in  the  time  of  this  erudite  prelate,  and 
with  numerous  notes,  biographical  and  critical.  It  was  published 
in  the  spring  of  J810.  A  few  months  afterwards,  on  receiving 
from  Mr.  Roscoe  a  copy  of  his  Occasional  Tracts  on  the  War  be- 
tween Great  Britain  and  France,  comprising  some  remarks  on  a 
motion  of  Lord  Grey's  in  favour  of  peace,  he  addressed  to  his 
friend  the  following  letter  expressive  of  the  state  of  his  political 
opinions  at  this  juncture  : — 

"  I  have  just  been  reading  your  observations  on  Lord  Grey's 
motion,  and  cannot  forbear  congratulating  you  on  this  new  effort 
in  the  cause  you  have  always  had  so  much  at  heart,  that  of  uni- 
versal philanthropy.  I  find  my  sentiments  so  much  in  unison 
with  yours  on  this  subject,  that  I  feel  pride  in  the  conformity. 
Peace,  indeed,  has  long  been  my  chief,  I  may  say  almost  my  sole, 
political  wish.  Regarding,  as  1  do,  war  as  the  greatest  of  all  the 
pests  with  which  human  society  is  afflicted,  I  think  the  termi- 
nation of  it  an  actual  good  with  which  any  hypothetical  evil  con- 
sequences are  not  to  be  placed  in  balance  ;  and  experience  has 
taught  me  to  hold  very  cheap  all  that  human  wisdom  which  sub- 
mits to  present  and  urgent  ills  through  apprehension  of  worse 
that  may  possibly  succeed. 

"  What  effects  may  proceed  from  your  publication  I  am  unable 


Appendix  (H) 


146  MEMOIR  OF 

to  foresee.  Probably  your  expectations  are  not  sanguine  :  but 
at  any  rate  you  will  have  entered  your  protest  against  the  mad- 
ness  of  the  public  councils,  and  have  contributed  your  share  to- 
wards bringing  the  nation  to  a  sounder  state  of  opinion.  The 
subsisting  engagements  with  Spain  must  doubtless  interpose  a 
great  difficulty  to  any  negociations  for  peace  till  the  fate  of  that 
country  is  decided  ;  for  I  can  scarcely  suppose  that  Napoleon 
would  consent  to  any  arrangement  that  would  leave  it  indepen- 
dent ;  but  all  your  arguments  pointed  against  the  panic  and  in- 
distinct fears  of  the  nation,  which  are  the  permanent  obstacles 
to  peace,  are  independent  of  this  circumstance,  and  seem  to  me 
perfectly  conclusive. 

"  I  should  anxiously  inquire,  were  we  to  meet,  your  sentiments 
on  various  other  topics,  on  which  I  am  inclined  to  believe  we 
should  readily  harmonise  ;  but  a  letter  is  not  the  place  for  such 
discussions." 

In  the  year  1811,  Dr.  Aikin  published  a  volume  of  Essays, 
Literary  and  Miscellaneous,  being  much  enlarged  and  corrected 
copies  from  draughts  which  had  previously  appeared  in  the  pages 
of  the  Monthly  Magazine  and  the  rfthen&um.  Three  fourths  of 
this  work  are  occupied  by  two  essays,  On  Similes  in  Poetry  and 
On  Poetical  Personifications,  which  may  be  regarded  as  very 
complete  critical  directories  for  the  employment  of  those  splen- 
did embellishments  of  poetical  composition :  they  are  likewise 
rendered  agreeable  to  the  general  reader  by  a  copious  selection 
of  examples  from  the  greatest  masters  of  verse,  Latin,  English, 
and  Italian.  The  remaining  contents  of  the  volume  are  Verbal 
Remarks,  principally  directed  to  the  leading  words  in  political 
and  religious  disputes,  and  pointing  out  and  exemplifying  the 
proper  and  the  improper  application  of  them  ;  and  a  few  miscel- 
laneous essays,  greatly  resembling,  both  in  style  and  matter,  his 
Letters  to  his  Son,  and  in  no  respect  inferior  to  them. 

About  this  period,  my  father  had  entertained  some  thoughts 
of  engaging  in  a  history  of  English  literature ;  but,  on  further 
consideration,  the  magnitude  of  the  design,  and  the  difficulty  of 
finding  proper  coadjutors,  deterred  him  from  the  attempt;  the 
course  of  reading  and  inquiry  into  which  it  had  led  him  did  not 
however  prove  entirely  unproductive.  It  now  occurred  to  him, 
that  such  a  view  as  he  had  afforded  by  his  Irnnslatioii  of  the  me- 
mc.ns  of  Huet  and  the  appended  notes,  of  learning  and  its  pro- 
fessors in  France,  might  usefully  be  extended  to  England  during 


DR.  JOHN  A1K1N.  147 

the  earlier  part  of  the  17th  century,  when  this  country  first  began 
to  take  a  distinguished  station  in  the  republic  of  letters, — pro- 
vided any  character  of  sufficient  importance  to  fill  the  centre  of 
the  picture  could  be  found.  A  short  examination  pointed  out 
two  distinguished  scholars,  one  of  them  also  eminent  as  a  divinCj 
and  the  other  as  a  lawyer  and  politician,  around  whom  all  the 
notices  of  persons  and  things  which  he  was  desirous  of  commu- 
nicating, might  conveniently  be  arranged  ; — these  were  Selden 
and  Archbishop  Usher;  of  whom  he  composed  lives  which,  to- 
gether with  the  subjoined  notes,  fill  an  octavo  volume.  The 
share  taken  by  these  two  learned  friends,  whose  difference  of 
party  did  not  impair  their  mutual  esteem,  in  the  great  civil  and 
religious  contests  of  their  times,  has  obliged  their  biographer 
frequently  to  allude  to  these  trying  topics;  and  the  performance 
derives  additional  interest  from  this  circumstance.  This  work 
appeared  in  1812,  and  was  inscribed  to  John  Whishaw,  Esq.  of 
Lincoln's  Inn,  as  a  pledge  of  high  esteem  and  long  and  cordial 
friendship. 

Towards  the  close  of  1811,  Dr.  Aikin  accepted  the  office  of 
editor  of  Dodsley's  Annual  Register  ;  an  employment  which 
henceforth  occupied  somewhat  more  than  half  his  time  in  a  kind 
of  labour  which  was  not  on  the  whole  unpleasant  to  him.  Soon 
after,  a  transfer  of  the  property  of  the  General  Biography  to  new 
hands,  put  an  end  to  the  long  suspension  of  the  work,  and  the 
completion  of  this  task,  in  conjunction  with  his  new  undertaking, 
called  upon  him  for  the  full  exertion  of  his  powers. 

Early  in  1813,  in  a  letter  addressed  to  Mr.  Roscoe  on  the  re- 
ceipt of  one  of  his  political  pieces,  he  thus  expressed  himself: — 

"  Accept  my  cordial  thanks,  my  dear  Sir,  for  the  present  of 
your  last  publication,  which  I  perused  with  the  melancholy  plea- 
sure of  seeing  good  sense  and  sound  argument  employed  in  the 
cause  of  virtue  and  patriotism,  but  a  cause  not  only  depressed 
by  the  hand  of  power,  but  unpopular  among  those  who  are  most 
interested  in  supporting  it.  The  late  political  events  have,  I 
confess,  deprived  me  of  all  expectation  of  seeing  better  princi- 
ples prevalent  in  this  country ;  whilst  the  general  state  of  the 
world  has  as  little  allowed  me  to  indulge  hopes  of  melioration 
elsewhere  ;  and  were  I  not  obliged  in  consequence  of  my  engage- 
ment in  Dodsley's  Annual  Register  to  attend  to  public  events 
as  they  are  passing,  I  think  I  should  shut  up  my  mind  to  every 
thing  but  old  books,  and  old  and  new  triends. 


148  MEMOIR  OF 

"  It  is  fortunate  that,  interested  as  we  may  be  in  these  subjects 
when  they  come  before  us,  they  do  not,  to  most  men  at  least, 
form  the  staple  of  life,  and  that  personal  and  domestic  concerns 
take,  in  fact,  the  nearest  and  most  habitual  place  in  our  hearts. 
To  me,  I  with  gratitude  acknowledge,  that  these  are  the  source 
of  pleasures  which  much  overbalance  the  disquiets  arising  from 
occasional  meditation  upon  the  affairs  of  a  world  which,  while  it 
seems  to  me  going  very  wrong,  I  have  no  power  to  set  right. 
And,  indeed,  if  I  can  suppose  the  same  of  other  persons,  I  ought 
perhaps  to  conclude,  that  the  errors  of  this  world  in  the  general 
are  not  so  destructive  to  individual  happiness  as  at  first  view 
they  appear.  And  when  I  think,  my  dear  friend,  of  you,  with 
your  natural  good  spirits,  your  active  mind,  your  many  domes- 
tic comforts,  and  a  state  of  health,  I  trust,  little  impaired,  I  can- 
not but  hope  that  election  disappointments  and  party  triumphs 
will  make  but  small  inroads  upon  your  peace,  or  abatement  of 
your  enjoyments. 

"  Were  1  at  present  inclined  to  desponding  thoughts,  I  should 
not  find  time  to  indulge  them,  for  I  scarcely  remember  when  I 
was  so  much  occupied.  I  am  at  this  moment  conducting  through, 
the  press  a  large  quarto  and  octavo ;  the  former  the  8th  volume 
of  the  Biography,  which  is  going  on  again,  and  I  hope  will  meet 
with  no  more  stops  to  the  end.  The  latter,  the  Annual  Register 
for  1812,  which  I  am  composing  as  well  as  printing.  I  am  not 
commonly  afraid  of  work,  but  1  almost  feel  myself  too  much 
hurried  with  this  double  task.  My  health  is  however  good,  and 
I  have  seldom  been  in  better  spirits." 

In  the  following  year  he  addresses  another  friend  nearly  in 
the  same  strain  of  sentiment, — thus  : 

"  Your  Newington  friends  go  on  in  the  jog-trot  of  life,  if  not 
very  gayly,  at  least  contentedly.  We  have  the  enjoyments  of 
health,  family  comforts,  books,  and  a  few  friends  :  and  surely  this 
is  a  tolerable  compromise  with  fortune  in  a  world  so  full  of  change 
and  casualty.  For  myself,  nothing  can  be  more  uniform  than  my 
train  of  existence.  My  daily  occupation  is  writing;  my  amuse- 
ments, a  visit  now  and  then  to  town,  walking,  reading,  and  do- 
mestic relaxations.  I  am  as  yet  scarcely  sensible  of  the  ap- 
proach of  old  age,  though  perhaps  others  may  be  so  for  me.  My 
health  has  never  been  better  than  through  the  last  winter,  severe 
as  it  has  been.  In  short,  were  it  not  for  some  anxiety  for  the 
future,  and  the  extinction  of  all  those  hopes  of  public  and  private 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  149 

melioration  which  I  once  pleased  myself  with  entertaining,  I 
should  enjoy  my  existence  as  much  as  I  have  ever  done.  My 
first  public  wish  is  to  see  the  restoration  of  peace,  for  none 
of  the  late  triumphs  which  have  been  so  loudly  boasted  of,  at  all 
compensate  to  my  feelings  the  widely  diffused  miseries  of  war, 
and  the  personal  burdens  of  it  in  which  we  all  share.  I  more 
and  more  detest  the  horrid  war-whoop  sounded  in  our  papers, 
and  echoed  by  party  and  private  interest,  and  in  my  scepticism 
respecting  the  good  intentions  of  all  men  in  power,  I  feel  indif- 
ferent to  any  other  success  than  that  which  will  soonest  give  re- 
pose to  the  suffering  world." 

The  General  Biography  was  at  length  completed  in  the  spring 
of  1815 ;  and  the  termination  of  his  twenty  years  task  could  not, 
on  the  whole,  be  other  than  a  cause  of  rejoicing  and  self-gratula- 
tion.  It  would  have  been  mortifying  to  leave  such  a  work  un- 
finished ;  and  at  the  age  of  68,  not  many  years  more  of  bodily 
and  mental  vigour  could  reasonably  be  reckoned  on.  Yet,  there 
is  always  somewhat  ot  melancholy  connected  with  the  conclusion 
of  a  long  work ; — to  part  with  an  employment  which  habits  has 
rendered  easy,  and  probably  agreeable,  is  parting  with  a  faithful 
friend ;  and  for  the  occupations,  like  the  attachments,  of  the 
active  period  of  life,  age  can  seldom  find  satisfactory  substitutes. 
The  form  of  a  dictionary  unfortunately  did  not  permit  him  to 
take  leave  of  the  work  with  those  general  reflections, — that  con- 
cluding moral,  which  comes  with  so  good  a  grace  from  the  ex- 
perienced collector  and  narrator  of  a  long  train  of  facts ;  but  his 
philosophical  mind  had  long  exercised  itself  in  meditations  sug- 
gested by  his  biographical  studies  ;  and  some  of  their  results  will 
be  found  in  the  miscellaneous  pieces  comprised  in  the  present 
collection,  particularly  in  one  of  considerable  length  On  the  For- 
mation of  Character. 

A  letter  to  Dr.  Haygarth,  the  last  specimen  of  my  father's 
epistolary  style  which  I  have  to  offer  to  the  public,  records  the 
state  of  his  feelings  on  public  and  private  matters  in  the  spring 
of  1815. 

"  Time  has  run  on  so  unperceived  amidst  my  different  engage- 
ments, that  I  have  scarcely  been  aware  of  the  long  interval  in 
our  correspondence ;  but  I  now  feel  impatient  for  a  little  episto- 
lary converse  with  one  who  has  for  so  many  years  possessed  my 
affection  and  gratitude,  and  for  information  of  his  state  of  health 
and  that  of  his  family.  With  respect  to  me  and  mine,  not  much 


150  MEMOIR  OF 

has  occurred  to  break  the  prevalent  uniformity  of  life.     I  have 
passed  the  several  seasons  since  we  met  in  general  good  health, 

and  my  ordinary  routine  of  employment The  mildness 

of  the  winter  has  been  favourable  to  advanced  life;  January  alone 
with  us  offered  any  severity  of  cold. 

"But  whilst  nature  is  presenting  a  smiling  countenance,  what 
a  terrible  prospect  is  opening  of  human  affairs,  in  consequence  of 
the  most  unexpected  turn  things  have  taken  in  France!     The 
success  of  this  unchained  tiger,  this  new  "  scourge  of  God,'*  por- 
tends nothing  less  than  the  revival  of  a  general  war  in  Europe, 
of  the  event  of  which  who  can  see  further  than  the  certainty  of 
bloodshed,  devastation,  and  every  kind  of  calamity  ?     If  we  take 
part  in  it,  as  doubtless  we  shall,  what  an  addition  to  the  burdens 
under  which  we  are  groaning,  and  which  press  so  heavily  upou 
the  comforts  of  life  in  the   middle  ranks  of  society !     I  own  I 
have  scarcely  courage  to  confront  the  evils  which  seem  accumu- 
lating round  us,  after  we  had  indulged  a  hope  of  seeing  better 
days.     I  was  about  to  conclude  my  history  of  the  last  year  in  the 
Annual  Register,  with  a  fond  anticipation  of  general  peace  and 
prosperity;  though  I  own  the  grasping  spirit  disclosed  by  the 
leading  powers  in  the  general  congress  gave  me  some  misgivings 
as  to  the  continuance  of  public  tranquillity  ;  but  such  a  change  as 
we  have  witnessed  who  could  foresee  ?     I  wish  to  know  how  you, 
in  whose  constitution  hope  and  favourable  views  of  mankind  are 
so  happily  predominant,  are  enabled  to  support  your  spirits  on 
this  occasion.     Is  it  not  too  plain  that  Europe,  at  least  as  long 
as  this  fiend  is  in  existence,  (or,  I  may  say,  as  long  as  the  dread- 
ful armies  which  support  him  are  in  being,)  will  be  nothing  but 
a  gladiatorian  amphitheatre  ?     I  am  so  absorbed  at  present  in 
these  thoughts,  that  I  can  scarcely  divert  them  by  books  or  com- 
mon studies;  but  why  should  I  endeavour  to  spread  the  gloom  to 
a  friend  ?     Enough  of  this.'* 

With  a  mind  thus  overclouded  by  public  cares,  constant  em- 
ployment was  to  Dr.  Aikin  a  necessary  condition  of  existence, 
or  at  least  of  any  tolerable  enjoyment  of  it;  and  as  his  powers 
were  still  vigorous,  he  was  not  long  in  finding  some  means  of 
supplying  the  vacuity  which  had  been  left  by  the  completion  of 
the  Biography.  lie  formed  a  collection  entitled  Select  Works  of 
the  British  Poets,  with  short  biographical  and  critical  prefaces, 
which  proved  to  be  his  last  contribution  to  the  cause  of  poetical 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  151 

laste ;  and  he  also  engaged  in  a  historical  work  which  will  per- 
manently add  to  his  reputation. 

For  many  years  it  had  been  his  practice,  for  his  own  use  and 
that  of  his  family,  to  note  down  in  a  concise  manner  the  leading 
public  events  of  his  time,  in  the  form  and  under  the  title  of  An- 
nals of  the  Reign  of  King  George  HI.  These  he  now  reviewed, 
and  having  greatly  enlarged  them  by  reference  to  various  sources 
of  authentic  information,  presented  them  to  the  public  in  two 
volumes  octavo.  The  first  edition  ended  with  the  peace  of  Paris 
in  1815,  but  a  second  brought  it  down  to  the  death  of  George 
III.  The  preface  claims  for  the  work  no  other  character  than 
that  of  "a  summary  of  the  principal  events,  domestic  and  foreign, 
of  the  late  reign."  "In  its  composition,"  adds  the  author, 
"  the  objects  in  view  have  been,  perspicuity  and  order  in, 
narrative,  selection  of  the  most  important  circumstances,  and 
a  strict  impartiality,  exhibited  not  only  in  a  fair  and  ungarbled 
representation  of  facts,  but  in  Ihe  absence  of  every  kind  of 
colouring  which  might  favour  the  purposes  of  what  may  properly 
be  denominated  party.  This  last  intention,  which  has  never 
ceased  to  guide  the  writer's  pen,  did  not  appear  to  him  necessa- 
rily to  preclude  every  expression  of  his  feeling  on  points  involv- 
ing moral  or  constitutional  questions  ;  but  he  trusts  that  he  shall 
be  found  to  have  used  this  liberty  with  moderation  and  reserve, 
and  without  any  effort  to  enforce  opinions  in  their  nature  du- 
bious or  disputable.  Where,  indeed,  in  the  records  of  history, 
can  the  period  be  met  with,  which,  to  one  whose  life  has  passed 
iri  contemplating  the  whole  shifting  scene,  is  calculated  to  incul- 
cate a  more  impressive  lesson  against  presumptuous  confidence 
in  speculative  notions,  or  positive  judgments  respecting  charac- 
ters and  actions  ?" 

No  one,  I  believe,  not  himself  under  the  strong  influence  of 
the  spirit  of  party,  will  dispute  the  perfect  sincerity  with  which 
it  was  in  this  instance  disclaimed.  Who  indeed  can  ever  aspire 
to  the  difficult  praise  of  impartiality  in  treating  of  contemporary 
history,  should  it  be  denied  to  one  totally  unconnected  with  pub- 
lic life,  shackled  by  no  obligations  to  a  patron  or  a  party,  desti- 
tute of  all  aspiring  views  either  for  himself  or  his  family,  of  a 
temper  naturally  calm  and  equable,  who,  near  the  close  of  a 
long  life  passed  in  the  pursuit  of  wisdom  and  the  study  of  man- 
kind, sits  down  with  the  sole  and  single  purpose  of  relating  facts 
without  suppression  or  disguise  for  the  instruction  of  his  conn 


152  MEMOIR  OF 

trymen  ?  The  style  of  this  work  possesses  the  neatness,  perspi- 
cuity and  vigour,  which  mark  the  manner  of  the  writer  ;  other 
praise  it  does  not  affect, — but  how  rare  and  how  valuable  is  this 
manly  and  elegant  simplicity  ! 

The  Jlnnals  appeared  in  the  summer  of  1816;  the  remainder 
of  that  year  was  passed  by  the  author  in  health  and  comfort,  and 
he  was  still  planning  new  designs, — for  no  one  was  ever  more 
stedfast  in  the  purpose  to  "work  while  it  is  called  to-day," — 
but  the  night  was  fast  approaching.  Early  in  the  following 
spring,  the  melancholy  prognostication  which  he  had  drawn  from 
the  temporary  numbness  of  his  arm,  so  many  years  before,  was 
verified  by  a  severe  and  dangerous  stroke  of  the  palsy,  which  de- 
prived him  for  a  time  of  the  use  of  his  faculties,  and  nearly  of 
the  power  of  speech.  After  a  few  months,  he  regained  his  health, 
and  with  it  his  mental  powers,  some  failure  of  memory  except- 
ed  ;  but  he  knew  too  well,  and  felt  too  keenly,  that  this  was  a 
respite  not  to  be  relied  upon  for  a  day  or  an  hour;  and  we  had 
the  grief  to  observe  his  spirits  gradually  sinking  under  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  slow  but  sure  decay  of  all  his  capacities  of  use- 
fulness and  enjoyment.  This  deplorable  progress  was  striking- 
ly hastened  by  a  severe  domestic  calamity,  the  death  of  his 
youngest  son.* 


*  I  trust  it  will  not  be  judged  a  trespass  against  propriety  to  insert  in  this  place  a 
brief  tribute  to  the  memory  of  a  man  of  genius  and  of  worth,  whose  hard  fate  it  was 
to  die  without  his  fame,  originally  composed  for  insertion  in  a  collection  of  Lives  of 
English  Architects,  which  has  not  yet  been  given  to  the  public. 

Edmund  Aikin  was  born  at  Warrington,  in  Lancashire,  on  October  2,  1780. 

With  the  exception  of  occasional  attendance  at  a  day  school,  his  education  was  en- 
tirely domestic,  and  his  excellent  and  assiduous  parents  his  sole  instructors.  The 
preference  of  private  to  public  instruction,  a  choice  seldom  expedient  with  respect 
to  those  who  are  destined  to  be  the  artificers  of  their  own  fortunes, — was  in  his  case 
decided  by  the  early  appearance  of  a  considerable  impediment  in  speech,  which, 
united  with  a  dispositioa  reserved  and  sensitive  in  the  extreme,  rendered  it  alike  in- 
dispensable to  his  progress  and  his  happiness  to  continue  to  him  the  benefit  of  modes 
of  instruction  contrived  expressly  for  his  use,  and  still  to  surround  him  with  the  ten- 
der protection  of  his  home.  It  was  from  this  infirmity  probably,  and  from  the  means 
adopted  to  lighten  its  pressure  upon  his  spirits  in  childhood,  that  his  character  re- 
ceived its  stamp,  his  genius  its  direction,  and  the  destiny  of  his  life  its  prevailing 
colour. 

Pensive,  imaginative,  and  taciturn  from  necessity,  reading  and  reverie  held  the 
first  place  among  his  pleasures,  and  almost  in  infancy  he  discovered  in  the  use  of  the 
pencil  a  resource  which  he  seised  upon  with  avidity,  and  continued  to  improve  with 
ardour. 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  153 

From  misfortune  of  this  nature  our  family  had  mercifully  en- 
joyed a  long  exemption ;  during  a  period  of  five-and-thirty  years, 


To  copy,  was  of  course  his  earliest  exercise,  in  which  he  acquired  unusual  accu- 
racy and  neatness  of  ham!  ;  but  he  quickly  aspired  at  something  like  originality,  and 
in  the  thousands  of  human  figures  and  countenances  which  his  leisure  raomtTits  were 
occupied  in  sketching,  he  shadowed  forth  the  features  and  actions  of  his  favourite 
characters  in  history,  the  visions  of  the  poets  whom  he  studied  with  unceasing  de- 
light, and  the  inspirations  of  his  own  fertile  fancy. 

It  soon  became  manifest  that  his  vocation  was  to  one  or  other  of  the  arts  of  design; 
and  his  father's  removal  to  London  in  the  year  1792,  afforded  opportunities  for  the 
cultivation  of  his  talent  which  were  sedulously  improved  ;  at  the  same  time  it  was 
judged  prudent  to  select  as  his  profession  an  art  which,  by  uniting  the  useful  with 
the  ornamental,  seemed  less  precarious  as  a  means  of  support  than  either  painting 
or  sculpture  ;  and  at  a  proper  age  he  was  articled  to  a  highly  respectable  surveyor 
and  builder.  Adequate  provision  was  thus  made  for  his  acquisition  of  the  principles 
of  construction,  and  of  its  mechanical  details  ;  but  for  all  that  constitutes  the  archi- 
tect, in  the  noblest  sense  of  the  term,  lie  was  still  to  be  indebted  to  voluntary  study* 
to  observation,  reflection,  and  the  promptings  of  his  own  mind.  In  this  situa- 
tion, while  his  diligence  and  punctuality  secured  the  esteem  of  his  master,  the 
unfoldings  of  his  genius  realised  the  fondest  hopes  of  his  family  and  friends.  The 
glories  of  his  art  were  never  absent  from  his  thoughts;  he  sketched,  he  planned,  he 
meditated,  and  his  imagination  revelled  with  delight  amid  temples,  palaces,  and  tri- 
umphal  arches  of  his  own  creation.  On  becoming  his  own  master,  he  immediately 
commenced  business  for  himself  as  an  architect  and  surveyor,  and  soon  obtained  a 
moderate  share  of  employment.  Adopting  the  literary  habits  of  his  family,  he  also 
exercised  his  pen  on  professional  topics,  and  severa.1  of  ihe  earlier  articles  in  Dr. 
Rees's  Cyclopaedia,  in  the  class  of  civil  architecture,  were  written  by  him. 

The  laudable  desire  of  seeing  a  free  communication  of  ideas  established  among 
members  of  the  same  profession,  and  of  extending  the  influence  of  an  art  which  he 
loved,  induced  him  to  become  one  of  the  founders  of  the  London  Architectural  So- 
ciety, established  on  the  principle  of  each  member's  producing  in  turn  either  an 
essay  on  some  professional  subject,  or  an  original  design,  accompanied  by  an  ample 
description,  which  became  the  topic  of  discussion  for  the  evening.  In  1808,  the  So- 
ciety published  in  an  octavo  volume  a  selection  of  the  essays  read  at  its  meetings,  and 
one  on  Modern  Architecture  by  Edmund  Aikin  led  the  way.  This  piece,  composed 
in  the  vigorous  and  original  style  which  distinguished  his  productions,displayed  much 
reading,  both  professional  and  general,  and,  what  is  much  higher  praise,  it  exhibit- 
ed a  mind  capable  of  penetrating  into  those  first  principles  ot  art  on  which  the  just 
application  of  all  technical  rules  must  depend,  while  it  evinced  that  enlargement  as 
-well  as  refinement  of  taste  which  belongs  to  such  minds  alone. 

Two  years  afterwards,  he  gave  to  the  world  a  series  of  designs  for  villas,  preceded 
by  an  introduction  of  considerable  1<  ngth,  in  which  he  further  unfolded  his  opinions 
on  modern  architecture,  and  on  the  kind  and  degree  of  imitation  of  the  ancients  best 
suited  to  the  purposes  and  circumstances  of  the  present  times.  He  opposed  with 
ingenuity  and  force  the  prevailing  fondness  for  the  Gothic,  as  applied  to  domestic 
architecture,  and  proposed  as  a  substitute  an  adaptation  of  the  Oriental,  or  Moham- 
medan style  of  architecture,  chiefly  as  exhibited  in  Mr.  Daniell's  Views  in  India. 
This  idea  he  illustrated  by  several  designs  of  an  ornate  and  picturesque  character. 

In  1812,  he  presented  to  the  Architectural  Society  the  most  important  of  his 

u 


154  MEMOIR  OF 

my  father  had  not  once  been  called  upon  to  resign  a  member  of 
his  household  circle  ; — and  in  the  state  of  decay  to  which  he  was 


works,  his  Essay  on  the  Doric  Order  ;  which  was  so  highly  approved  that  it  was  de- 
termined to  publish  it,  at  th  -  expense  of  the  Society,  in  a  splendid  folio  form,  illus- 
trated with  several  plates.  This  piece  possessed,  besides  its  intrinsic  merit,  that  of 
suppljing  a  desideratum.  All  architectural  writers,  from  Vitrnvius  Downwards, 
had  treated  of  this  order,  the  earliest  and  the  most  majestic  of  all,  according  to  such 
ideas  of  it  alone  as  were  to  be  derived  from  the  existing  Roman  examples,  depraved 
imitiitioms,  as  it  now  appears,  rather  than  faithful  copies  from  tht  temples  and 
other  public  edifices  which  ennobled  the  cities  of  ancient  Greece.  At  length,  these 
venerable  monuments  had  been  explored  and  described  by  English  travellers  and 
artists,  with  skill  and  diligence  worthy  of  the  objects;  and  the  learned  and  splendid 
work  of  Stuart  and  Revet  on  Athens,  the  Ionian  An'iquities  published  b\  the  Dilet- 
tanti Socitty,  and  the  later  work  of  Mr.  Wilkins.  afforded  sufficient  materials  for  a 
much  improved  delineation  of  Doric  architecture,  founded  on  pure  and  primitive 
models.  Such  a  delineation,  the  pen  and  pencil  of  the  author  her'-  afforded  ;  he 
also  compared  and  criticised  the  examples  which  h-  presented,  and  he  concluded  by 
giving:  some  original  designs  of  this  order  adapted  to  modern  imitation. 

Mr.  E.  Aikin  afterwards  resided  fora  considerable  time  with  General  Su  Samuel 
Bentham,  and  gave  his  assistance  to  this  distinguished  engineer  in  several  public 
works  which  he  was  planning  or  executing  at  Sheerness,  Portsmouth,  and  '  Ise- 
where.  In  this  situation  his  attention  was  particularly  called  to  the  subject  of  bridge 
building,  and  he  published  in  concert  with  Sir  S.  Bentham  the  designs  for  abridge 
erected  over  the  river  Swale. 

An  interesting  essay  on  St.  Paul's  cathedral,  accompanying  the  designs  of  Mr. 
James  Elmi-s,  proceeded  from  his  pen  in  1813,  which,  with  some  observations  on 
the  architecture  of  the  age  of  queen  Elizabeth,  appended  to  his  sister's  Memoirs  of 
the  Court  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  completes  the  catalogue  of  his  printed  writings. 

The  preference  which  his  designs  for  the  Wellington  assembly  rooms  at  Liverpool 
received  from  a  committee  appointed  to  conduct  the  undertaking,  induced  him  in 
1814,  to  repair  to  the  spot,  where  he  superintended  the  txecution  of  the  building; 
and  the  encouragement  of  several  valuable  friends  engaged  him  to  fix  his  future  re- 
sidence in  that  town.  Another  public  building,  the  Liverpool  Institution  was  com- 
mitted to  his  management  ;  but  it  was  here  his  business  to  adapt  an  existing  edifice 
to  this  destination  by  alterations  and  additions, — a  task  of  more  difficulty  and  less 
honour  than  the  erection  of  an  entirely  new  one.  He  also  decorated  the  town  and 
environs  with  several  elegant  villas,  and  other  buildings  ;  and  if,  in  some  instances, 
he  was  obliged  to  comply  with  the  fondness  for  modern  Gothic  against  the  dictates  of 
his  own  taste  and  judgment,  his  profound  knowledge  of  the  principles  of  construc- 
tion on  which  this  style  depends,  enabled  him  to  give  uncommon  correct m  ss  and 
elegance,  and  what  may  be  called  an  air  of  good  sense,  combim-d  with  picturesque 
effect,  to  these  difficult  imitations.  These  qualities  were  still  more  strikingly  dis- 
played in  many  designs  for  churches  which  he  composed  on  different  occasions,  none 
of  which,  however,  have  yet  been  executed. 

The  progress  ->f  an  architect  in  the  higher  branches  of  his  art  is  in  ibis  country 
slow  and  difficult;  because  great  ignorance,  and  consequently  great  indifference,  on 
the  subject  of  architectural  beauty  and  d>  for  mity  pervades  the  British  public  la 
addition  to  this  general  cause  of  delay  and  disappointment,  the  success  of  Mr.  E. 
Aikin  was  impeded  by  temporary  and  local  obstacles,  and  most  of  all,  perhaps,  by 


DR.  JOHN  AIKIN.  155 

now  reduced,  so  keen  a  trial  of  parental  feelings  as  now  occur- 
red, was  evidently  beyond  his  strength.  He  avoided  complaint 
almost  entirely,  but  his  anguish  was  profound,  and  its  effects  in- 
curable. Enough  of  bodily  strength  however  remained,  to  pro- 
tract the  struggle  with  existence  till  the  mind  was  almost  totally 
obscured.  One  sentiment  alone,  that  of  affectionate  attachment 
towards  those  whose  assiduity  ministered  to  him  all  of  comfort 
that  he  could  yet  enjoy, — and  to  her,  most  of  all,  whose  tried  and 
faithful  tenderness  had  best  deserved  a  husband's  love, — survived 
and  triumphed  to  the  last. 

After  a  long  course  of  the  distress  and  suffering  incident  to 
this  form  of  natural  decay,  which  those  who  have  ever  witnessed 
it  will  sufficiently  conceive,  and  of  which  others  may  regard  it  as 
a  privilege  to  be  able  to  form  no  idea, — a  stroke  of  apoplexy  closed 
the  scene  on  December  7th,  1822. 

That  life  may  not  be  prolonged  beyond  the  power  of  usefulness, 
is  one  of  the  most  natural,  and  apparently  of  the  most  reasonable 
wishes  man  can  form  for  the  future  ; — it  was  almost  the  only  one 
which  my  father  expressed  or  indulged,  and  I  doubt  not  that 
every  reader  will  be  affected  with  some  emotions  of  sympathetic 
regret  on  learning  that  it  was  in  his  case  lamentably  disappoint- 
ed. To  those  whose  daily  and  hourly  happiness  chiefly  consisted 
in  the  activity  and  enjoyment  diffused  over  his  domestic  circle  by 
his  talents  and  virtues, — the  gradual  extinction  of  this  mental 
light  was  a  privation  afflictive  and  humiliating  beyond  expression. 
But  in  all  the  trials  aqd  sorrows  of  life,  however  severe,  enough 


the  reserve,  the  timidity,  the  scrupulous  delicacy,  and  the  nice  sense  of honour  which 
characterised  him.  Meantime,  life  was  wearing  away  ;  a  constitution  never  robust 
had  been  undermined  by  severe  attacks  of  illness  ;  spirits  never  very  buoyant  had 
begun  to  yield  to  depression,  and  the  brilliant  visions  with  which  conscious  genius 
had  cheered  the  morning  of  existence  began  to  fade  from  before  him.  These  changes 
•were  beheld  with  anguish  by  the  few  who  thoroughly  knew  and  could  duly  appreci- 
ate his  many  great  excellencies,  moral  and  intellectual : — his  extensive  knowledge, 
his  strong  and  clear  judgment,  his  fine  taste,  and  his  ardent  love  of  the  good  and 
fair  ; — th'i  sweetness  and  serenity  of  his  temper,  the  modest  gracefulness  of  his  man- 
ners, the  moderation  of  his  w.sh<  s,  the  manly  independence  of  his  principles,  and 
the  perfect  truth  JMK!  probity  which  presided  overall  his  words  and  actions.  During 
the  summer  of  1819,  he  had  struggled  with  difficulty  through  a  protracted  malady, 
and  had  been  enabled  to  resume  with  some  energy  his  professional  occupations  ;  but 
the  seeds  of  disease  still  lurkod  in  his  constitution,  and  a  winter  journey  from  Liver- 
pool to  London  the  following  Christmas  perhaps  hastened  their  development 
Alarming  symptoms  recurred  with  augrnenttd  force,  and  after  a  painful  struggle  he 
expired  at  his  father's  house,  at  Stoke  Newington,  on  March  llth,  1820, 


156  MEMOIR  OF 

of  alleviation  is  blended  to  show  from  what  quarter  they  proceed; 
and  there  were  still  circumstances  which  called  for  grateful  ac- 
knowledgment. The  naturally  sweet  and  affectionate  disposi- 
tion of  my  dear  father  ;  his  strictly  temperate  and  simple  habits 
of  living,  and  the  mastery  over  his  passions  which  he  had  so  con- 
stantly exercised,  were  all  highly  favourable  circumstances;  and 
their  influence  long  and  powerfully  counteracted  the  irritability 
of  disease,  and  caused  many  instructive  and  many  soothing  and 
tender  impressions  to  mingle  with  the  anxieties  and  fatigues  of 
our  long  and  melancholy  attendance.  His  literary  tastes  were 
another  invaluable  source  of  comfort;  long  after  he  was  incapa- 
citated from  reading  to  himself,  he  would  listen  with  satisfaction 
during  many  hours  in  the  day  to  the  reading  of  others ;  poetry* 
in  particular,  exercised  a  kind  of  spell  over  him ;  Virgil  and 
Horace  he  heard  with  delight  for  a  considerable  period,  and  the 
English  poets  occasionally,  to  the  very  last.  The  love  of  chil- 
dren, which  had  always  been  an  amiable  feature  in  his  character, 
likewise  remained;  and  the  sight  of  his  young  grand -children 
sporting  around  him,  and  courting  his  attention  by  their  affec- 
tionate caresses,  had  often  the  happy  effect  of  rousing  him  from 
a  state  of  melancholy  languor  and  carrying  at  least  a  transient 
emotion  of  pleasure  to  his  heart.  His  health  also  continued  gene- 
rally good  almost  to  the  end,  and  we  had  seldom  the  distress  of 
seeing  him  under  the  influence  of  bodily  pain.  The  final  boon, 
an  easy  dismissal  from  life,  was  also  granted  him. 

He  was  interred  in  the  church-yard  of  Stoke  Newington,  where 
a  simple  monument  is  erected  to  his  memory  with  the  following 
inscription : 

In  memory  of 

JOHN  AIKIN,  M.  D. 

who  was  born  at  Kibworth,  in  Leicestershire, 

Jan.  15th,  1747, 
died   in  this  Parish 

Dec.  7th,  18*2, 

A  strenuous  and  consistent  assertor 

of  the  cause  of  civil  and  religious  liberty 

and  of  the  free  exercise  of  reason 

in  the  investigation  ot  truth . 

Of  unwearied  diligence  in  all  his  pursuits. 

he-  was  characterised, 

in  Ills  profession, 
by  skill,  humanity,  and  disinterestedness  •. 

in  his  writings, 
by  candour,  by  moral  purity, 


DR.  JOHN  AIRIN.  157 

by  good  sense,  and  refined  taste. 

In  the  i'.itercourse  of  society 
he  was  affable,  kind,  cheerful,  instructive  ; 

as  a  husband,  a  father,  and  a  friend, 
unblemished,  revered,  and  beloved. 

To  this  summary  of  my  father's  character,  I  have  nothing  here 
to  add  ; — should  any  desire  a  description  of  his  outward  form,  let 
them  accept  the  following.  He  was  of  the  middle  stature,  and 
well  proportioned,  though  spare  ;  his  carriage  was  erect,  his  step 
light  and  active.  His  eyes  were  grey  and  lively,  his  skin  natu- 
rally fair,  but,  in  his  face,  much  pitted  with  the  small  pox.  The 
expression  of  his  countenance  was  mild,  intelligent,  and  cheer- 
ful, and  its  effect  was  aided  in  conversation  by  the  tones  of  a 
voice  clear  and  agreeable,  though  not  powerful. 


CRITICAL  ESSAYS 


ON 


ENGLISH  POETS. 


ACCOUNT 

OF 

THE  LIFE  AND  WORKS 

OF 


THE  early  efforts  in  poetry  of  all  nations  are  necessarily  rude 
and  imperfect.  Many  attempts  must  be  made,  before  a  barbar- 
ous language  can  be  so  disciplined  into  correctness  of  diction, 
and  melody  of  sound,  as  to  afford  a  material  which  even  genius 
itself  can  work  into  any  thing  truly  excellent  And  when  im- 
provement has  proceeded  so  far  that  lines  and  passages  are  to 
be  found  deserving  of  real  admiration,  these  will  long  be  of  rare 
occurrence,  like  specks  of  gold  in  a  matrix  of  brute  earth.  Pro- 
ductions of  such  a  period,  however  interesting  they  may  be  to 
the  critical  inquirer  into  the  history  of  national  literature,  will 
give  more  disgust  than  pleasure  to  one  who  reads  for  amusement 
only,  and  who  has  already  formed  his  taste  upon  the  best  models 
of  different  ages  and  countries. 

It  might  be  difficult  to  determine  with  which  of  the  English 
poets  commences  that  degree  of  masterly  execution  which  is  ca- 
pable of  satisfying;  a  cultivated  taste ;  but  that  SPENSER  is  with- 
in this  limit,  will  hardly  be  questioned  by  any  one  who  has  suf- 
ficienily  familiarised  himself  with  his  writings  to  disregard  the 
uncouthness  of  an  antiquated  diction.  His  name,  too,  by  long 
possession,  has  obtained  a  permanent  rank  among  the  major  poets 
of  the  nation  ;  so  that  the  student  of  English  verse  cannot,  even 
through  regard  to  his  reputation,  safely  remain  unacquainted  with 
the  works  of  one  who  fills  such  a  space  in  the  history  of  his  art. 
As  the  undoubted  head  of  a  peculiar  class  of  writers,  Spenser, 
too,  claims  the  notice  of  literary  curiosity ;  for  no  adequate  idea 
can  be  formed  of  the  extent  to  which  personification  and  allegory 
X 


162  SPENSER. 

may  be  carried,  without  a  perusal  of  the  Faery  Queene.  On  all 
these  accounts,  it  is  presumed  that  the  admission  of  Spenser's 
works  into  a  collection  of  the  principal  English  Poets  will  appear 
much  less  extraordinary,  than  the  former  rejection  of  them.* 

Few  of  the  eminent  English  writers  are  less  known  by  authen- 
tic biographical  records  than  Spenser ;  and  it  is  necessary  to  be 
contented  with  such  a  defective  and  partly  dubious  account  oi 
him  as  can  be  derived  from  a  few  traditionary  notices,  and  from 
circumstances  incidentally  alluded  to  in  his  works. 

EDMUND  SPENSER  was  born  in  London,  probably  of  obscure 
parentage,  since  he  has  given  us  no  information  on  that  point, 
though  he  has  taken  care  to  record  that  he  derives  his  name  from 
"an  house  of  ancient  fame,"  meaning  the  noble  family  of  Spen- 
ser's of  Althorp.  It  does  not  appear,  however,  that  he  ever  claim- 
ed kindred  with  that  house,  or  was  acknowledged  by  it.  He  was 
entered  as  a  sizer  (the  lowest  order  of  students)  at  Pembroke 
Hall,  Cambridge,  in  the  year  1569.  From  this  date  may  with 
probability  be  inferred  that  of  his  birth,  which  has  been  strange- 
ly misrepresented  in  the  inscription  on  his  tomb.  Supposing 
him,  when  he  entered  at  university,  to  have  been  sixteen,  the 
usual  academical  age  at  that  period,  he  must  have  been  born 
about  the  year  1553.  He  took  the  degrees  of  Bachelor  and 
Master  of  Arts,  the  latter  in  1576,  in  which  year  he  was  an  un- 
successful competitor  for  a  fellowship.  Mortification  for  this 
disappointment  probably  drove  him  from  college ;  and  we  find 
that  he  took  up  his  residence  for  some  time  in  the  North,  but  in 
what  quality  we  do  not  learn.  Here,  an  incident  of  importance 
in  a  poet's  life  occurred,  that  of  his  tailing  in  love.  His  mis- 
tress, whom  he  has  commemorated  under  the  name  of  Rosalinde, 
after  leading  him  through  the  usual  vicissitudes  of  a  love  adven- 
ture, finally  deserted  him.  Nothing  could  be  more  natural,  than 
that  such  a  circumstance  should,  in  a  mind  addicted  to  the 
Muses,  produce  pastoral  poetry  ;  accordingly,  he  wrote  his 
"Shepherd's  Calendar,"  a  part  of  which  is  devoted  to  amorous 
complaint,  and  of  which  the  general  strain  is  serious  and  pensive. 
This  he  published  in  1579,  dedicated,  under  the  humble  signa- 
ture of  Immerito,  to  Mr.,  afterwards  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  To  the 
acquaintance  of  this  celebrated  person  he  was  introduced  by  a 


*  Tins  article  was  written  for  a  new  edition  of  Johnson's  Pods. 


SPENSER.  1GS 

friend  named  Gabriel  Harvey;  and  as  this  was  previously  to  his 
publication  of  the  Shepherd's  Calendar,  part  of  which  he  even 
composed  at  Penshurst,  it  seems  fully  to  refute  a  romantic  tale 
concerning  his  first  introduction  to  Sidney.  This  story  relates, 
that  Spenser  one  morning  repaired  to  Leicester-house,  an  entire 
stranger,  and  provided  with  no  other  recommendation  than  the 
ninth  canto  of  the  first  book  of  the  "  Faery  Queene,"  in  which 
is  contained  the  fine  allegory  of  Despair.  Having  obtained  ad- 
mission to  Sidney,  and  presented  his  paper,  that  lover  and  judge 
of  poetry  was  so  struck  with  a  particular  stanza,  that  he  imme- 
diately ordered  fifty  pounds  to  be  given  to  the  author ;  and  pro- 
ceeding to  the  next  stanza,  he  raised  his  gift  to  a  hundred 
pounds ;  which  sum  he  doubled  on  reading  a  third,  and  com- 
manded his  steward  to  pay  instantly,  lest  he  should  be  induced 
by  a  further  delay  to  give  away  his  whole  estate.  Sir  Pkilip  was 
a  character  of  uncommon  and  romantic  generosity ;  but  such  a 
rate  of  estimating  verse  was  not  at  all  conformable  to  the  spirit 
of  the  times.  Indeed,  the  story  would  scarcely  suit  any  patron 
upon  record  but  a  Roman  emperor  or  a  Saracen  caliph.  It  is 
not  to  be  doubted,  however,  that  Sidney  was  a  warm  and  liberal 
friend  to  Spenser.  He  caused  him  to  quit  his  rural  retreat,  and 
try  his  fortune  at  court ;  and  by  his  means  Spenser  was  made 
known  to  the  Earl  Leicester,  and  finally  to  Queen  Elizabeth.  The 
bountv  of  his  sovereign  lady  (who  probably  received  more  learn- 
ed adoration,  and  at  a  cheaper  rate,  than  any  crowned  head  be- 
sides) is  more  credible  in  its  measure  than  that  ascribed  to  Sid- 
ney. She  is  said,  upon  his  presenting  some  poems  to  her,  to 
have  ordered  him  a  gratuity  of  a  hundred  pounds  ;  which  sum 
appeared  so  extravagant  a  reward  for  a  rhymer,  to  the  Lord  trea- 
surer Burleigh,  that  he  deferred  the  payment,  till  he  received  a 
repetition  of  the  order  from  his  mistress,  not  without  some  chid- 
ing for  the  delay.  Either  this  circumstance,  or  Spenser's  attach- 
ment to  persons  disliked  by  the  treasurer,  rendered  this  potent 
minister  a  lasting  enemy  to  the  poor  poet,  who  in  several  parts 
of  his  works  alludes  to  this  misfortune,  which  he  is  thought 
imprudently  to  have  aggravated  by  some  satirical  inuendos. 
The  Earl  of  Leicester's  friendship,  however,  produced  some 
valuable  fruits.  In  1759,  he  sent  Spenser  upon  some  commis- 
sion to  France ;  and  it  was  probably  through  this  nobleman's  re- 
commendation, that  he  was  appointed  secretary  to  Arthur  Lord 
Grey  of  Wilton,  when  he  went  as  lord  deputy  to  Ireland,  in 


164  SPENSER. 

1580.  In  this  situation  Spenser  displayed  those  talents  for  bu- 
siness \v!  ich  many  examples  show  to  be  v?ry  compatible  with  a 
genius  for  elegant  literature.  He  wrote  a  "  Discourse  on  the 
State  of  Ireland,"  containing  many  judicious  observations  on  the 
schemes  of  policy  proper  for  that  country.  His  services  to  the 
crown  were  rewarded  with  a  grant  of  3028  acres  in  the  county 
of  Cork,  out  of  the  vast  forfeited  property  of  the  Earl  of  Desmond: 
— an  ample  possession,  upon  an  insecure  tenure  ;  like  all  those 
which  different  rebellions  have  conveyed  from  Irish  to  English 
proprietors,  and  which  have  been  usually  bestowed  with  a  profuse- 
ness  proportional  to  the  celerity  with  which  they  were  acquired. 
Spenser's  residence  was  the  castle  of  Kilcolman  near  Done- 
raile,  one  of  the  Earl  of  Desmond's  seats.  Here  he  describes 
himself,  in  the  style  of  pastoral  poetry,  as  keeping  his  sheep 
"  underfche  foot  of  Mole,  that  mountain  hore,"  and  frequenting 
"the  coolly  shade  of  the  green  alders  by  the  Mulla's  shore;" — 
names  which  have  in  some  measure  been  rendered  classical  by 
his  Muse.  It  was  here  that  he  first  received  a  visit  from  that 
splendid  character,  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  then  a  captain  under 
Lord  Grey.  In  his  pastoral  fiction,  Spenser  gives  Raleigh  the 
title  of  the  Shepherd  of  the  Ocean,  and  highly  extols  his  curtesy 
and  elegant  accomplishments.  Raleigh  proved  his  friendship  by 
some  court  services  which  he  rendered  the  poet;  indeed  Spen- 
ser says,  that  he  "  first  enhanced  to  him  the  grace  of  his  queen." 
Perhaps  he  was  instrumental  in  procuring  from  the  crown  a  con- 
firmation of  Spenser's  grant  of  land,  which  he  obtained  in  1586* 
They  went  together  to  England,  where  it  seems  that  our  poet 
wished  to  obtain  a  settlement,  rather  than  to  continue  in  a  coun- 
try which,  whatever  might  be  its  rural  charms,  was  little  better 
than  barbarous  in  point  of  society  and  civilisation.  It  might  be 
during  his  attendance  on  the  court  in  this  visit,  that  he  was  made 
fully  sensible  of  the  chagrins  and  mortifications  which  he  has  so 
so  forcibly  described  in  the  following  lines  of  his  "  Mother  Hub- 
bard's  Tale :" 

Full  little  knowest  thnu  that  hast  not  try'd, 
What  hell  it  ii  in  suing  long  to  bvde  ; 
To  lose  good  days  that  might  be  better  spent, 
To  waste  long  nights  in  ponsi/i-  disoontrnt  ; 
Tospeed  to-day,  to  be  put  back  to-morrow, 
To  fee.,  <in  hopir,  to  pine  with  f> -<\r  and  sorrow  ; 
To  ha\e  thy  prince's  grace,  yet  want  In  r  peers'. 
To  have  thy  asking,  yet  wait  many  years ; 


SPENSER,  165 

To  fret  thy  soul  with  crosses  and  with  cares, 
To  eat'hv  head  with  comfortless  despairs  ; 
To  fawn,  to  crouch,  to  wait,  to  ride,  to  run, 
To  spend,  to  give,  to  want,  to  be  undone. 

Spenser  returned  to  Ireland  ;  and  if  the  leisure  of  an  involun- 
tary retreat  was  the  cause  of  his  writing  the  Faery  Queene,  we 
must  rejoice  at  the  disappointment  of  his  wishes,  which  detached 
him  from  the  obscure  group  of  placemen  and  courtiers.  Of  that 
poem,  it  appears,  from  the  author's  letter  to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
that  the  whole  plan  was  formed,  and  three  books  were  written, 
in  the  beginning  of  1589.  These  were  published,  with  a  dedi- 
cation to  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  1590 ;  and  it  can  scarcely  be 
doubted,  that  in  a  learned  and  poetical  age  they  would  excite 
much  notice  and  admiration.  The  author,  indeed,  did  not 
leave  them  solely  to  their  own  merits;  for  he  introduced  them 
with  complimentary  sonnets  to  several  persons  of  quality, 
among  whom  he  did  not  think  it  prudent  to  omit  Lord  Burleigh. 
Yet  in  his  address  to  that  minister,  he  shews  how  little  he  could 
depend  upon  him  as  a  friend  to  poetry — to  his  "idle  rhymes, the 
labour  of  lost  time,  and  wit  unstay'd ;"  and  he  only  humbly  pre- 
sumes that  their  "  deeper  sense"  may  obtain  his  approbation. 
The  Queen  rewarded  him  for  his  poetry  and  compliments  by  a 
pension  of  50/.  per  annum,  granted  in  February,  1591,  and  he 
may  thenceforth  be  considered  as  her  laureate,  though  the  title 
was  not  formally  given  him. 

It  was  not  till  his  fortieth  year  that  he  repaired  the  loss  of  his 
Rosalinde,  by  a  marriage  with  "a  country  lass  of  low  degree," 
but  who  had  a  stock  of  charms  sufficient  to  inspire  the  happy 
lover  with  matter  fora  very  poetical  and  rapturous  epithalamium. 
It  is  to  be  supposed,  that,  with  such  a  partner,  his  life  passed 
more  agreeably  in  his  rural  banishment,  and  that  he  ceased  to  re- 
gret that  court,  the  disquiets  of  which  he  had  so  acutely  felt,  In 
1596,  he  published  a  new  edition  of  the  Faery  Queene,  with  the 
addition  of  three  more  books,  which  only  half  completed  his  de- 
sign. If  the  traditionary  story  be  true,  that  the  remaining  six 
books  were  lost  by  a  servant  who  had  the  charge  of  bringing 
them  over  to  England,  the  event  may  be  reckoned  among  the 
most  afflictive  that  could  happen  to  a  poet,  and  would  probably 
be  felt  by  him  as  severely  as  his  subsequent  misfortune  of  the 
plunder  of  his  house,  and  the  destruction  of  his  whole  property, 
in  the  rebellion  of  Tyrone.  He  himself  was  driven  for  refuge  to 


166  SPENSER. 

England,  where  he  soon  after  died,  in  1598,  probably  a  victim  to 
grief  and  despondence.  He  was  interred  in  Westminster-abbey, 
near  the  remains  of  his  poetical  father  Chaucer,  and  at  the  charge 
of  the  noble-minded,  though  imprudent  and  unfortunate,  Earl  of 
Essex.  Several  of  his  brother  poets  attended  his  obsequies,  and 
threw  into  his  grave  copies  of  verses  to  his  honour.  Nothing  is 
known  of  his  family  or  posterity,  further  than  that  one  of  his  de- 
scendants came  over  from  Ireland,  in  King  William's  reign,  as 
a  claimant  of  his  estate. 

Of  the  manners,  conversation,  and  private  character  of  Spen- 
ser, we  have  no  information  from  contemporaries ;  our  conclu- 
sions must  therefore  be  only  drawn  from  his  writings,  and  the 
few  known  events  of  his  life.  To  the  intimate  friend  of  Sidney 
and  Raleigh,  especially  of  the  former,  it  is  reasonable  to  attribute 
virtue  as  well  as  genius.  His  works  breathe  a  fervent  spirit  of 
piety  and  morality  ;  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  conceive  of  any 
thing  base  or  dissolute  in  conduct,  in  conjunction  with  the  dig- 
nity of  sentiment  which  is  uniformly  supported  in  the  productions 
of  his  Muse.  A  querulous  disposition,  however,  occasionally 
breaks  torth  ;  nor  does  he  seem  to  have  been  contented  under  a 
fortune  more  affluent  than  usually  falls  to  the  lot  of  a  poet.  He 
paid  considerable  court  to  the  great,  but  without  that  extrava- 
gance of  adulation  which  was  not  uncommon  even  among  the 
eminent  persons  of  that  age.  He  possessed  friends  as  well  as 
patrons,  and  his  death  was  lamented  as  a  public  loss  to  the  lite- 
rature of  his  country. 

We  are  now  to  speak  of  Spenser  in  his  poetical  capacity. 
Fraught  with  the  stores  of  ancient  learning  and  of  the  school- 
philosophy  of  his  time,  and  conversant  with  the  poets  of  Italy, 
and  the  tales  of  popular  romance,  he  came  fully  prepared  for  the 
execution  of  any  plan  of  poetical  invention  which  his  genius,  mo- 
delled by  the  taste  of  the  age.  might  suggest ;  and  he  found  his 
native  language  sufficiently  cultivated  to  serve  as  a  vehicle  of 
poetical  conceptions  of  any  class.  The  revival  of  letters  had  not 
as  yet  produced  in  Europe  the  revival  of  that  pure  and  natural 
taste  which  distinguished  the  best  periods  of  Greece  and  Rome. 
A  passion  for  marvellous  adventure,  carried  to  the  limits  of  the 
absurd  and  burlesque,  and  a  disposition  to  veil  truth  under  the 
disguise  of  allegory,  characterised  the  writers  who  were  the  fa- 
vourites of  the  day.  Spenser  did  not  possess  that  rare  elevation 
of  genius  which  places  a  man  above  the  level  of  the  age ;  but  he 


SPENSER.  167 

had  the  richness  of  invention,  and  the  warmth  of  feeling,  which 
pre«?iif  the  manner  of  the  age  in  its  happiest  form.  His  first 
performance,  however,  did  not  indicate  a  marked  superiority 
over  the  contemporary  poets  of  this  country. 

The  SHEPHERD'S  CALENDAR  is  a  series  of  Pastorals,  formed 
upon  no  uniform  plan,  but  in  general  lowered  down  to  that  rus- 
tic standard  which  is  supposed  appropriate  to  this  species  of  com- 
positi  >n.  The  gradation  of  rural  scenery  according  to  the  changes 
of  the  year,  which  the  title  of  the  piece  would  lead  the  reader  to 
expect,  forms  but  a  small,  and  by  no  means  a  striking,  part  otthe 
design,  which  is  rather  moral  than  descriptive.  The  shepherd's 
character  is  borrowed  chiefly  for  the  purpose  of  giving  grave  lec- 
tures on  the  conduct  of  life  ;  of  panegyrising  a  sovereign,  or  la- 
menting a  lost  friend  :  it  is  even  made  the  allegorical  vehicle  of 
reflections  concerning  the  state  of  religion.  Spenser,  at  this  pe- 
riod, seems  to  have  joined  that  party  which  was  most  zealous 
for  ecclesiastical  reform,  and  which  viewed  with  the  greatest 
displeasure  the  corruptions  introduced  by  the  worldly  pomp  and 
dominion  of  popery.  How  adverse  such  topics  are  to  the  sim- 
plicity and  amenity  of  genuine  pastoral,  needs  not  now  be  point- 
ed out.  It  seems  generally  agreed,  that  the  description  of  the 
grand  and  beautiful  objects  of  nature,  with  well  selected  scenes 
of  rural  life,  real,  but  not  coarse,  constitute  the  only  proper  ma- 
terials of  pastoral  poetry.  To  these,  Spenser  has  made  small  ad- 
ditions ;  and,  therefore,  the  Shepherd's  Calendar,  though  it  ob- 
tained the  applause  of  Sidney,  and  seems  immediately  to  have 
given  its  author  a  rank  among  the  esteemed  poets  of  the  time, 
would  probably,  in  the  progression  of  critical  taste,  have  been 
consigned  to  oblivion,  had  it  not  been  borne  up  by  the  fame  of 
the  Faery  Queene.  It  is  not,  however,  void  of  passages  marked 
with  the  writer's  peculiar  strength  and  liveliness  of  painting. 
The  description  of  the  aged  oak,  in  the  moral  fable  of  February, 
may  be  pointed  out  as  an  instance  of  this  kind;  as  well  as  the 
whole  fable  of  the  kid  and  wolf,  under  May.  The  rustic  and 
antiquated  language  of  the  greater  part  of  these  pieces  was, 
doubtless,  intended  to  correspond  with  the  character  annexed  to 
pastoral  poetry ;  but  its  simplicity  is  often  carried  to  rudeness 
and  vulgarity.  The  alliteration,  which  is  also  meant  as  a  cha- 
racter of  antiquity,  will  scarcely  please  a  modern  ear. 

The  FAERY  QUEENE,  the  inseparable  companion  of  Spenser's 
fame,  h  one  of  the  most  singular  poems  extant  in  any  language  ; 


168  SPENSER. 

and,  from  the  unfinished  state  in  which  we  possess  it,  we  should 
probably  have  found   it  impossible  to  form  a  clear  conception  of 
the  author's  plan   in  writing  it,  had   he  not,  in    a  letter  to  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh,  prefixed  to  the  publication   of  the  first  three 
books,  given  its  general  argument.     We  there  learn,  that  his 
leading  purpose — a  truly  noble  one — was  to  train  a  person  of 
rank  in  "vertuous  and  gentle  discipline,'*  by  exhibiting  a  per- 
fect example   of  the   twelve  private   moral  virtues,  as  *hey  are 
enumerated  by  Aristotle.  This  is  done  in  "a  continued  allegory 
or  dark  conceit,"  rendered  more  dark  than  the  usual  obscurity 
of  allegorical  fiction  by  an  extraordinary  involution  of  the  plot. 
The  general  hero,  or  image  of  perfect  excellence,  is  the  British 
prince  Arthur,  so  renowned  in  legendary  history;  yet  each  seve- 
ral book  has  its  particular  hero,  whose  adventures  allegorically 
display  the  exercise  of  that  virtue  which  is  the  proper  subject  of 
the  book.     In  order,  therefore,  to   preserve  the  unity  of  the 
whole,  Prince  Arthur  is  occasionally  introduced  as  an  auxiliary 
of  these  allegorical  knights  in  their  most  dangeroas  adventures. 
The  quality  peculiarly  attributed  to  him  is  Magnificence,  which,  in 
modern  language,  would  perhaps  rather  be  termed  Magnanimity, 
or  Greatness  of  Soul,  as  being  the  sum  and  perfection  of  all  the 
other  virtues.     He  is  enamoured  in  a  vision  with  the  beauty  of 
the  Faery  Queene,  and  comes   to  seek  her  in  Faery  Land  ;  and 
this  is  the  grand  fable  of  the  piece.  But  while  the  Faery  Queene 
represents  Glory  in  the  general  intention,  she  is  also,  in  the  par- 
ticular meaning,  a  type  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  whose  dominion  is 
the  Faery  land.     Arthur,  then,  wooes  Glory  in  his  proper  per- 
son ;  and  the  time  of  the  fable  is  represented  to  be  that  of  the 
real  commencement  of  his  history,  part  of  which  is  here  copied 
from  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth.  But  Queen  Elizabeth,  or  Gloriana, 
is  likewise  identified  by  circumstances  in  her  real  history ;  and 
the  great  persons  in  her  court  are  frequently  alluded  to  in  the 
characters  of  the  fairy  or  allegorical  knights.     And,  as  if  all  this 
confusion  were  not  sufficient  to  perplex  the  reader,  Spenser  had 
thought  proper  to  reserve  till  the  twelfth  or  last  book,  the  de- 
velopment of  the  occasion  which  puts  all  his  knights  in  motion ; 
and  which,  it  seems,  was  to  be  an  annual  feast  kept  by  the  Faery 
Queene  for  twelve  days ;  on  each  of  which,  in  conformity  to  the 
manners  of  chivalry,  some  distressed   damsel,  orphan,  or  other 
suft'erer  under  injustice  and  oppression,  appears  as  a  suitor  for 
aid,  and  receives  from  the  queen  a  champion.     The  reason  given 


SPENSER  169 

by  the  poet  for  delaying  this  piece  of  information  is,  that  he 
might  imitate  his  epic  predecessors,  in  breaking  at  once  into  the 
action,  without  the  formality  of  a  historical  introduction.  But 
to  suffer  the  whole  action  to  elapse,  before  the  reader  is  made 
properly  acquainted  with  the  actors,  and  the  cause  in  which  they 
are  engaged,  is  surely  a  violent  sacrifice  to  a  principle,  the  just- 
ness of  which,  even  in  a  much  more  sober  application,  may  be 
questioned.  On  commencing  the  Faery  Queene,  it  is  now  im- 
possible, without  consulting  the  author's  prefatory  epistle,  to 
conceive  that  it  is  to  have  any  other  subject  than  the  adventures 
of  the  Red -cross  knight ;  or  to  form  any  notion  concerning  the 
title  of  the  poem,  and  the  connection  this  imaginary  Queen  is  to 
have  with  its  persons  and  events. 

-From  this  view  of  the  plan  of  Spenser's  great  poem,  it  will 
probably  appear  that  its  merit  consists  rather  in  affording  a 
boundless  field  for  the  range  of  fancy,  than  in  that  concentration, 
of  the  interest  upon  some  one  important  point,  which  is  the  es- 
sential character  of  the  genuine  epic.  Were  each  book,  indeed* 
to  be  regarded  as  a  separate  and  complete  piece,  having  its  own 
distinct  hero,  this  effect  might  be  said  to  be  in  some  measure  pro- 
duced ;  but  such  was  not  the  author's  intention,  since  he  avow- 
edly aims  at  connecting  the  whole  by  means  of  his  general  hero, 
Prince  Arthur.  But  this  personage,  who  seldom  appears  but  as 
a  subordinate  and  auxiliary  character,  and  in  some  of  the  books 
absolutely  performs  nothing,  can  only  in  the  theory  of  the  poem 
be  regarded  as  serving  this  purpose;  in  the  practice,  he  is  found 
to  excite  little  either  of  curiosity  or  interest.  Relinquishing, 
therefore,  any  further  consideration  of  plan  and  design,  we  shall 
proceed  to  consider  Spenser's  character  as  an  allegorical  pain- 
ter, in  the  detached  figures  and  groups  which  strike  the  eye  in 
ranging  through  his  gallery  of  pictures.  In  fact,  detached  beau- 
ties are  what  the  mind  principally  dwells  upon  even  in  the  most 
regular  compositions  ;  and,  after  the  first  perusal,  Orlando  Fu- 
rioso  and  the  Eneid  are  alike  recurred  to  for  their  fine  passages 
alone. 

The  groundwork  of  all  Spenser's  fictions  is  the  system  of  chi- 
valry, as  displayed  in  the  romances  of  the  time,  and  in  the  prin- 
cipal productions  of  Italian  poetry.  Knights  wandering  in 
search  of  adventures,  distressed  ladies,  giants,  Saracens,  savages, 
dragons,  enchantments, forests,andcastles,were  the  materials  with 
which  these  creations  of  the  fancy  were  fabricated.  Some  of  them 
Y 


iro  SPENSER. 

professed  to  be  .histories,  or  real  narrations ;  but  in  many, "  more 
was  meant  than  met  the  ear,"  and  moral  or  metaphysical  ideas 
were  darkly  presented  under  the  garb  of  visible  beings.  So  me- 
ritorious was  thought  this  alliance  of  a  secret  meaning  with  an 
obvious  one,  that  Tasso,  after  he  had  formed  a  noble  epic  poem 
on  the  basis  of  true  history,  and  indeed  with  an  uncommon  at- 
tention to  reality  in  manners  and  characters,  thought  it  advisa- 
ble to  add  a  key  to  the  whole,  by  which  it  was  turned  into  a  theo- 
logical allegory.  Fortunately,  this  appears  to  have  been  a  mere 
after  thought  which  had  no  influence  upon  the  plan  and  conduct 
of  the  poem.  Ariosto,  on  the  other  hand,  who  is  generally  a  sim- 
ple narrator  of  adventures,  given  as  real,  however  extravagant, 
occasionally  intermixed  fictions  of  pure  allegory.  But  Spen- 
ser is  throughout  allegorical  in  his  design,  except  as  far  as  he 
meant  to  interweave  the  legendary  tales  of  ancient  British  his- 
tory, on  account  of  their  connection  with  his  human  hero,  Prince 
Arthur.  All  his  other  heroes  are  Virtues  personified  by  knights 
errant ;  and  this  uniformity  of  fiction  would  have  produced  a 
tiresome  sameness  in  the  action,  had  not  the  poet  possessed  that 
uncommon  fertility  of  invention,  and  force  of  description,  which 
are  his  characteristics.  In  all  the  records  of  poetry,  no  author 
can  probably  be  found  who  approaches  him  in  the  facility  with 
which  he  embodies  abstract  ideas,  and  converts  them  into  actors 
in  his  fable.  It  is  true,  he  found  in  the  extensive  regions  of  ro- 
mance a  vast  variety  of  forms  ready  to  assume  the  moral  cha- 
racters most  appropriated  to  their  natures ;  nor  was  he  very  nice 
in  the  choice  of  these  beings,  or  very  careful  to  preserve  consis- 
tency in  their  figures  or  employment.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  he 
may  be  reckoned  the  greatest  master  of  personification  that  ever 
existed  ;  and  more  original  delineations  of  this  kind  are  to  be 
met  with  in  the  Faery  Queene,  than,  perhaps,  in  all  other  poems 
united.  Some  of  these  are  truly  excellent,  and  are  wrought  into 
scenes  of  wonderful  power.  The  allegory  of  Despair  in  the  first 
book,  may  be  placed  at  the  head  of  all  such  fictions,  as  well  for 
just  conception  and  skilful  management,  as  for  unrivalled 
strength  of  description.  It  seems  impossible  by  the  medium  of 
words  to  call  up  visual  images  in  the  mind  with  more  force  and 
distinctness,  than  is  done  in  the  pictures  of  the  knight  flying 
Irom  Despair,  of  Despair  himself  in  his  cave,  and  of  the  Red-cross 
knight  receiving  the  dagger  from  his  hands.  The  allegory  of 
Mammon  is  distinguished  by  richness  of  invention,  in  the  multi- 


SPENSER.  171 

plicity  of  personifications,  and  the  romantic  and  sublime  wild- 
ness  of  the  scenery.  The  Masque  of  Cupid  abounds  in  admira- 
ble single  figures,  though,  perhaps,  defective  in  the  grouping. 
These  are  only  a  few  instances  out  of  the  many  striking  efforts 
of  imagination  presented  in  the  Faery  Queene,  which  will  ever 
render  it  the  favourite  study  of  those  who  delight  in  this  branch 
of  poetical  invention. 

Of  Spenser's  allegorical  figures  it  may  be  observed,  that  some 
are  merely  the  natural  representations  of  a  human  being  under 
the  influence  of  the  passion  or  quality  intended  to  be  personified; 
some  are  wholly  emblematical,  expressing  their  character  by 
means  of  types  and  symbols;  and  in  some,  both  these  modes  of 
painting  are  combined  Examples  of  the  first,  or  natural  mode, 
may  be  found  in  the  picture  of  Fear  in  the  Masque  of  Cupid  (B. 
iii.  c.  12.) ;  in  that  of  Despair  already  mentioned ;  and  in  those 
of  Heavenly  Contemplation  (B.  i.  c.  10  ),  and  of  Hypocrisy  (B.  i« 
c.  1.) : — of  the  second,  or  emblematical  mode,  in  the  figure  of 
Fancy  in  the  Masque  of  Cupid  ;  and  in  that  of  Faith  (B.  i.  c.  10.): 
— of  the  third,  or  mixed  mode,  in  Disdain  (B.  vi.  c.  7.) ;  Pride 
and  her  counsellors  (B.  i.  c.  4  ) ;  Care  (B.  iv.  c.  5.) ;  and  Suspi- 
cion (B.  iii.  c.  12.)  It  may  readily  be  conceived,  that  this  varie- 
ty of  delineation  will  produce  occasional  inconsistencies ;  that 
action  and  passion  will  often  be  confounded;  and  that  the  man- 
ner in  which  these  fancy-formed  beings  are  employed,  will  fre- 
quently be  unsuitable  to  their  nature.  These  are  defects  from 
which  complex  and  continued  allegory  can  never  be  free.  To 
create  a  new  system  of  things,  is  too  great  an  effort  of  the  ima- 
gination to  be  long  and  uniformly  supported ;  and  Spenser,  as 
the  most  copious  of  allegorists,  is  perhaps  the  most  exuberant  in 
faults.  His  forms  are  often  grotesque  and  disgusting,  sometimes 
impossible  ;  and  he  not  unfrequently  makes  a  breach  in  the  per- 
sonification, by  intermixing  the  ideas  of  reality  with  those  of  fic- 
tion. In  a  critical  commentary  it  might  be  proper  to  point  out 
all  these  imperfections  ;  but  in  a  preliminary  essay  it  is  sufficient 
to  apprise  the  reader  of  taste  that  they  exist,  and  leave  the  de- 
tection of  them  to  his  own  attentive  research.  He  will  find  them 
exemplified  not  only  in  Spenser,  but  in  every  other  writer  who 
has  ventured  far  into  the  perilous  regions  of  allegory. 

Though  there  is  a  large  fund  of  original  matter  in  the  Faery 
Queene,  there  is  also  much  imitation,  and  even  translation.  Va- 
rious passages  from  the  classics,  and  still  more  from  the  Italian 


172  SPENSEK. 

poets,  are  closely  copied.  The  stores  of  ancient  mythology  are 
freely  ransacked  ;  nor  is  Spenser  more  careful  than  his  Italian 
masters  in  avoiding  the  incongruity  of  mixing  heathen  with  Chris- 
tian ideas.  To  confess  the  truth,  he  wrote  too  much,  to  write 
with  uniform  attention  and  judgment.  His  plan  was  vast;  and 
to  fill  it  up,  required  great  industry  as  well  as  invention.  He 
could  not  afford  to  be  nice  in  selection  ;  and,  like  all  other  com- 
posers of  very  long  poems,  he  was  obliged  to  be  contented  with 
such  matter  as  occurred,  rather  than  with  such  as  he  would  de- 
liberately have  approved.  Most  readers  will  think  he  too  much 
abounds  in  prolix  descriptions  of  single  combats,  which  he  found 
ready  drawn  to  his  hand  in  Bojardo,  Ariosto,  and  Tasso.  In- 
deed, his  device  of  making  all  the  virtues  knights  errant,  neces- 
sarily renders  their  contests  with  the  opposite  vices,  so  many 
battles. 

The  form  of  stanza  he  adopted  (to  proceed  to  the  subject  of 
versification}  favoured  redundancy  of  style;  and  that,  not  merely 
in  words,  but  in  ideas.  Dryden  observes  of  himself,  that  a  rhyme 
often  helped  him  to  a  thought.  Spenser's  verse,  requiring  in  each 
stanza  four  and  three  similar  rhyming  terminations,  put  him  upon 
a  perpetual  effort  to  bring  in  words  of  a  certain  sound,  however 
unconnected  in  their  meaning  with  the  current  subject.  This 
gave  rise  to  distant  associations,  which  sometimes  produced 
images  that  really  enriched  the  diction  ;  though  more  frequently 
it  flattened  and  debased  it  by  impertinent  additions.  It  like- 
wise often  compelled  the  poet  to  employ  expedients  that  indicate 
the  cruelty  of  the  yoke  to  which  he  had  injudiciously  subjected 
himself.  Expletives,  tautologies,  and  circumlocutions,  occur  in 
almost  every  stanza,  and  gross  improprieties  of  speech  are  but 
too  frequent.  Vulgar  and  obsolete  words  are  often  mixed  with 
those  of  a  higher  order ;  and  when  all  these  licenses  fail  in  pro- 
ducing the  requisite  tale  of  rhyme,  the  writer  does  not  scruple 
to  mis-spell  words,  and  to  satisfy  the  eye  at  the  expense  of  the 
ear.  Yet  the  stanza  of  Spenser,  when  well  executed,  has  a  ful- 
ness of  melody,  and  a  sonorous  majesty,  scarcely  equalled  by  any 
other  English  measure;  and  some  later  poets,  who  have  bestow- 
ed due  pains  upon  their  versification,  have  copied  it  with  great 
success.  The  concluding  Alexandrine,  which  Spenser  added  to 
the  eight-line  stanza  of  the  Italians,  produces  a  fine  effect  when 
it  accords  with  the  subject;  but  in  a  long  piece  such  a  coinci- 
dence must  frequently  be  wanting.  Every  elaborate  measure. 


SPENSER.  175 

indeed,  has  the  inconvenience  of  being  ill  adapted  to  the  variety 
of  epic  composition.  It,  with  difficulty,  admits  of  quick  changes 
ami  rapid  movements,  and  is  apt  to  produce  languor  and  pro- 
lixity. Its  frequent  recurrence  tires  the  ear;  and  its  marked 
closes  check  the  flow  of  eloquence.  It  has  therefore  been  with 
true  judgment  that  the  best  modern  heroic  poets  have  deserted 
the  forms  of  versification  which  prevailed  at  the  first  revival  of 
letters,  and  have  recurred  to  the  simpler  models  of  Greece  and 
Rome. 

The  language  of  the  Faery  Queene  is  cast  in  a  more  antique 
mould  than  that  of  the  age  in  which  the  writer  lived.  Spenser 
doubtless  thought  thereby  to  throw  round  his  work  a  venerable 
air  which  suited  the  sober  morality  of  the  design,  and  the  an- 
tiquity of  the  manners  represented  in  its  action.  Many  of  the 
words  and  phrases,  too,  which  even  in  his  day  had  become  obso- 
lete, possessed  a  peculiar  strength  and  vigour  which  happily  coin- 
cided with  his  own  very  forcible  style  of  description.  It  may 
be  added,  that,  as  we  have  already  hinted,  by  the  free  employ- 
ment of  words  of  different  ages,  he  often  found  means  to  extri- 
cate himself  from  the  difficulties  imposed  by  his  system  ot 
rhymes.  On  the  whole,  however,  it  is  probably  best  for  a  writer 
to  confine  himself  to  the  current  language  of  his  time,  arid  bend 
his  efforts  to  give  it  all  the  perfection  of  which  it  is  susceptible. 
In  aiming  at  an  antique  diction,  he  will  never  do  more  than  make 
a  heterogeneous  mixture,  which  is  the  real  language  of  no  one 
period,  and  must  often  appear  quaint  and  affected,  rather  than 
simple  and  nervous.  The  English  of  Edward  III.  was  too  fat- 
distant  from  that  of  Elizabeth  to  admit  of  an  easy  combination; 
and  as  Spenser  could  not  avoid  making  the  substance  of  his  style 
of  the  staple  of  his  own  age,  the  intermingled  threads  of  Chaucer 
show  like  spots  and  stains,  rather  than  agreeable  variegations. 
The  effect  of  his  system  of  language  has  been,  that  the  Faery 
Queene  cannot  safely  be  quoted  as  authority  for  the  proper  use 
of  words ;  and  that  while  it  is  not  intelligible  to  the  common 
reader  without  a  glossary,  it  affords  an  uncertain  light  to  the  ver- 
bal researches  of  the  antiquarian  critic. 

What  has  been  said  may  serve  as  a  general  introduction  to 
the  perusal  of  this  work,  which,  with  all  its  defects,  will  ever  be 
considered  as  one  of  the  capital  productions  of  English  poetry, 
and  as  conferring  high  honour  on  the  writer  and  his  country.  It 
will  probably  not  often  be  read  through  ;  nor  will  many  think  it 


174  SPENSER, 

worth  while  to  bestow  much  study  on  its  plan,  or  on  the  particu- 
lar signification  of  all  its  mysteries  and  historical  allusions.  But 
detached  parts  will  continue  to  give  pleasure  after  repeated  pe- 
rusals; and  the  whole  will  be  valued  as  a  rich  store-house  of 
invention,  resembling  some  of  the  remaining  edifices  of  that  age» 
which  still  astonish  by  their  magnificent  profusion  of  varied, 
though  partly  fantastic,  ornament. 

The  other  poems  of  Spenser  do  not  require  much  discussion, 
though  considerable  in  qaantity,  and  various  in  subject.    It  is  to 
be  feared  that  the  leading  impression  they  will  make  upon  a  mo- 
dern reader  will  be  that  of  tediousness  ;  a  fault  from  which  few 
productions  of  the  early  age  of  English  poetry  are  free.     Yet 
some  of  these  pieces  are  written  in  an  elevated  strain  of  thought, 
and  exhibit  a  polish  of  language  and  versification  which  would 
scarcely  be  expected  from  that  period.    The  Hymns  to  Love  and 
Beauty  contain  many  lines  that  may  gratify  the  nicest  ear  ;  and 
their  philosophical  arid  doctrinal  learning  probably  excited  great 
admiration  at  the  time  when  they  were  published.    The  Sonnets 
might  have  a  claim  to  please  those  who  could  taste  the  studied 
conceits  and  far-fetched  sentiments  of  Petrarch.     The  Epitha- 
lamion,  composed  for  his  own  marriage,  possesses  feeling  as  well 
as  fancy,  and  wants  only  judicious  curtailment  to  make  it  a  very 
pleasing  piece.  The  Tears  of  the  Muses  are  eloquent  complaints, 
but  somewhat  too  monotonous.     Th6y  assert  with  dignity  the 
merits  of  literature;  but  it  may  be  supposed,  that,  like  all  other 
censurers  of  their  age,  the  poet  exaggerates  in  his  declamations 
on  the  discouragements  to  which  learning  was  subjected  in  a 
reign  which  we  are  taught  to  consider  as  peculiarly  favourable  to 
it.  Daphnaida  is  an  elegy  of  most  unreasonable  length  on  a  per- 
son never  heard  of;  and  the  pastoral  strains  in  which  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  is  lamented,  excite  much  less  sympathy,  than  the  simple 
prose  narration  of  his  heroic  death.     The  most  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance in  this  piece  is  a  kind  of  appendix,  written  in  lines  of 
three  iambic  feet  without  rhyme  ;  a  form  of  verse  of  which  I  know 
not  another  instance.     The  Ruins  of  Time  is  a  fine  idea,  inade- 
quately executed.     The  Roman  colony  of  Verulam  was  never  of 
consequence  enough  to  be  selected  as  the  leading  example  of 
change  of  fortune;  and  the  adulatory  lamentation  of  the  death  of 
a  private  nobleman  is  unworthy  of  the  high  theme  of  the  poem. 
In  the  scenery  of  this  piece,  Spenser  has  adopted  the  ancient  no- 
tion that  the  Thames  once  ran  by  Verulam ;  an  improbable  fable, 


SPENSER.  175 

by  which  more  is  lost  in  point  of  reality,  than  is  gained  in  de- 
scription. The  pieces  entitled  Colin  Clout's  come  home  again} 
and  Mother  Hubbard's  Tale,  refer  to  character's  and  events  in 
the  court-history  of  the  time,  which  it  would  be  difficult  now  to 
elucidate,  should  any  commentator  think  the  task  worth  attempt- 
ing ;  but  they  were  probably  interesting  to  contemporary  read- 
ers. The  lines  already  quoted  from  the  latter,  describing  the 
miseries  of  a  courtier,  yield  to  few  in  the  language  for  energy  of 
feeling  and  nervous  brevity  of  expression. 


AN  ESSAY 


ON 


THE    POETRY   OF 


AMONG  the  names  rendered  illustrious  by  intellectual  supe- 
riority, of  which  this  island  justly  boasts,  a  few  stand  so  conspic- 
uously prominent,  that  they  immediately  occur  to  every  native 
whose  theme  is  the  glory  of  his  country.  Of  these,  the  votaries 
of  science  are,  perhaps,  enumerated  with  most  confidence,  be- 
cause their  merits  have  been  equally  recognised  by  foreign  na- 
tions, and  their  fame  has  even  been  reflected  back  with  addi- 
tional lustre  to  their  own.  In  every  part  of  civilised  Europe, 
Bacon  and  Newton  are  placed  in  the  first  rank  of  human  genius. 
But  the  celebrity  of  men  distinguished  in  the  literature  of  their 
their  country,  must  not  only  be  originally  of  home -growth,  but 
must  ever  have  its  principal  seat  at  home,  as  being  there  alone 
duly  estimated  and  fully  understood.  There  indeed,  it  may  rise 
to  as  great  a  height  as  that  of  the  preceding  class,  and  may  even 
excite  more  general  and  enthusiastic  admiration.  Few  English- 
men will  now  make  it  a  question  whether  MILTON  be  entitled  to 
march  in  an  equal  rank  with  the  two  philosophers  above  men- 
tioned ;  and  scarcely  any,  it  is  presumed,  who  have  a  true  relish 
of  English  poetry,  will  assign  to  him  a  second  place  among  his 
poetical  brethren.  That  his  fame  has  been  continually  growing, 
and  has  only  within  a  late  period  attained  its  full  magnitude, 
ought  to  be  regarded  as  a  proof  of  the  solidity  of  its  foundation. 
How  might  he  triumph,  could  he  now  behold  those  who  were  once 
his  rivals,  and  even  his  imagined  superiors,  fallen  far,  far  be- 
neath him ;  and  his  own  memory  decorated  with  all  the  honours 
which  national  pride  and  attachment  can  bestow  !  To  trace  the 
progress  of  such  a  man,  and  ascertain  that  peculiarity  of  excel- 
lence which  has  placed  him  on  such  an  eminence,  cannot  but  be 


MILTON.  177 

a  highly  interesting  exercise.  At  the  same  time,  the  task  is  ar- 
duous. I  feel  it  to  be  such,  and  engage  in  it  with  awe.  If  it  be 
true,  as  D'Alembert  has  said,  that  no  one  is  fit  to  estimate  a  great 
man,  who  does  not  himself  belong  to  the  class,  how  few  should 
venture  to  sit  in  judgment  on  Milton  !  But  I  pretend  only  to 
give  the  opinion  of  a  humble  individual,  whose  chief  claims  are 
impartiality,  and  long  meditation  on  the  works  he  means  to  ex- 
amine. The  chronological  order  in  which  I  propose  to  survey 
them,  can  scarcely  fail  of  suggesting  some  striking  comparisons 
of  the  author  with  himself  at  different  periods  of  his  life,  and  of 
exhibiting  that  spectacle  of  the  gradual  disclosure  and  growth  of 
genius,  which  is  one  of  the  most  captivating  to  a  philosophical 
inquirer. 

From  early  youth,  Milton  seems  to  have  been  characterised  by 
a  lofty  and  elevated  mind.  Educated  in  a  distinguished  seat  of 
learning,  and  deeply  imbued  with  the  classical  literature  which 
at  that  period,  perhaps,  was  studied  with  more  ardour  than  it  has 
ever  been  since,  he  soared  to  no  common  height  in  his  juvenile 
exercises,  and  attained  an  excellence  in  Latin  poetry  which  is  a 
topic  of  admiration  to  his  biographers.  The  intrinsic  value  of 
his  performances  in  this  class  has,  indeed,  been  differently  esti- 
mated ;  but  it  is  certain  that  they  bespeak  an  imagination  fed 
with  no  trivial  or  vulgar  ideas,  and  a  soul  big  with  high  resolves, 
and  the  anticipation  of  future  fame.  Various  passages  in  his 
Latin  poems  have  been  adduced  as  denoting  the  seeds  of  great 
designs  which  then  lurked  in  his  mind  ;  but  none  are  more  striking 
than  the  following  lines  of  an  address  in  English  verse  "to  his 
Native  Language,"  delivered  at  a  college  exercise,  when  he  was 
nineteen  years  old  : 

Yet  I  had  rather,  if  I  were  to  chuse, 

Thy  service  in  some  graver  subj-  ct  use, 

yuch  "3  may  make  thee  s<  arch  thy  coffrrs  round, 

B.  Ton   thou  clothe  nay  frncy  in  fit  sound  : 

Such  where  (he  deep-transported  mind  may  soar 

Abov.  the  wheelim:  poles,  a»d  at  Heav'n's  dooi' 

Look  in,  and  see  each  blissful  deity 

How  he  before  the  thund'rous  throne  doth  lie. 

These  strains  plainly  indicate  the  future  bard  whose  "  Muse 
with  angels  did  divide  to  sing." 

Though  years  before  this  period  he  had  preluded  in  English 
poetry,  with  some  sweet  though  juvenile  verses  "  On  the  death 
Z 


178  MILTON. 

of  a  fair  infant  dying  of  a  cough,"  which  deserve  mention  in  his 
poetical  progress,  as,  both  from  the  style  and  the  measure,  they 
show  him  to  have  been  an  early  student  of  Spenser,  and  prove 
that  he  was  capable  of  attaining  all  those  graces  of  versification 
in  rhymed  stanzas,  which  had  been  reached  by  that  master. 

A  very  singular  composition  in  his  twenty-first  year  displayed 
at  the  same  time  the  grandeur  of  his  genius,  and  the  immaturity 
of  his  judgment.  It  was  a  HYMN  ON  THE  NATIVITY,  the  greater 
part  of  which  is  replete  with  the  puerile  and  unnatural  conceit 
of  Donne,  and  other  early  English  poets  ; — a  school  which  last- 
ingly perverted  Cowley,  though  a  genius  worthy  of  better  things; 
but  from  the  baneful  influence  of  which  Milton  at  length  broke 
loose,  like  his  own  Lion  at  the  creation  from  the  incumbent  soil. 
That  he  possessed  the  power  of  thus  redeeming  himself,  might 
be  concluded  from  several  stanzas  of  this  very  piece,  in  which  he 
describes  the  supposed  desertion  of  the  heathen  oracles  by  their 
inspiring  deities,  not  only  with  exquisite  learning,  but  with  a 
warmth  and  purity  of  painting  which  he  himself  scarcely  ever 
surpassed. 

Retired  to  private  study,  another  school  of  poetry  seems  to 
have  engaged  much  of  his  attention.  This  was  the  Italian,  at 
that  time  beyond  comparison  the  first  among  the  moderns,  and, 
indeed,  already  the  school  of  Spenser  and  other  English  writers 
of  celebrity.  The  wildness  of  fancy,  united  with  dignity  of  sen- 
timent and  suavity  of  expression,  which  characterised  the  mas- 
ters in  this  school,  could  not  fail  of  captivating  such  a  mind  as 
that  of  Milton  ;  accordingly,  strong  traces  of  the  impressions  he 
received  from  the  poets  of  Italy  are  discernible  even  in  his  great- 
est and  most  mature  performances. 

No  poet,  then,  ever  came  to  the  practice  of  his  art  more  re- 
plenished with  stores  accumulated  from  the  richest  productions 
of  various  ages  and  countries.  So  copious,  indeed,  were  these 
materials,  that  a  genius  less  vigorous  would  have  been  in  danger 
of  being  overwhelmed  by  them,  and  of  exchanging  all  originality, 
for  imitation  or  allusion.  Nor  can  it  be  denied  that  his  learning- 
is  sometimes  obtrusive ;  yet  its  effect  is  rather  to  suggest  ideas 
derived  from  memory,  as  from  a  general  stock,  than  to  render 
him  a  copyist  of  particular  passages.  In  this  respect  a  striking 
difference  appears  between  his  manner  and  that  of  Tasso,  who, 
inventive  as  he  is  in  the  plan  and  many  of  the  incidents  of  his 
great  work,  scruples  not  to  introduce  long  and  direct  transla- 


MILTON.  179 

tions  from  Virgil  and  other  poets.  This  originality  of  imitation 
in  Milton  becomes  peculiarly  conspicuous  on  a  critical  examina- 
tion of  his  similes.  In  most  of  these  he  may  be  detected  taking 
a  hint  from  Homer  or  some  other  ancient;  but  he  has  made  it 
so  much  his  own,  both  by  added  circumstances  in  the  descrip- 
tion, and  by  novelty  in  the  application,  that  his  merit  of  inven- 
tion is  little  less  than  if  the  whole  idea  had  been  primarily  of  his 
own  growth.  In  Milton's  mind,  all  images  and  impressions,  whe- 
ther received  from  nature  or  art,  from  reading  or  observation, 
seem  to  have  been  so  blended  and  amalgamated,  so  much  con- 
verted into  the  proper  aliment  of  the  intellect,  that  their  tran- 
scripts in  his  writings  take  a  kind  of  homogeneous  form,  and 
what  might  appear  study  in  another  man,  in  him  is  spontaneous 
effusion. 

He  was  twenty-six  years  old  when  he  produced  his  MASK  OF 
COMUS,  a  composition  sufficient  of  itself  to  raise  its  author  to 
such  a  height  of  reputation,  that  one  greater  in  extent,  rather 
than  in  excellence,  was  alone  wanting  to  place  him  at  the  sum- 
mit of  English  poetry.  Its  story,  indeed,  is  simple;  its  leading 
idea  founded  upon  ancient  mythology;  and  its  conduct  and  cha- 
racter undramatic,  if  to  a  drama  it  be  essential  to  interest  the 
passions,  and  give  a  natural  representation  of  human  action  and 
sentiment.  But  they  who  have  made  these  objections  to  it,  have 
not,  perhaps,  enough  considered,  that  the  Mask,  then  a  favourite 
entertainment  of  a  learned  age,  was  regarded  as  a  peculiar 
species  of  composition,  the  nature  of  which  was  rather  poetical 
than  dramatic,  and  which  sought  rather  to  amuse  the  fancy  with 
allegorical  and  mythological  fictions,  and  to  elevate  the  soul  with 
lofty  conceptions,  than  to  present  scenes  of  common  life,  in  this 
view,  what  work  ever  fulfilled  its  purpose  more  than  Comus? 
Where,  in  any  language,  can  be  found  such  an  union  of  rich  des- 
cription, grand  and  beautiful  imagery,  and  lofty  philosophy,  ex- 
pressed in  the  noblest  diction  ?  How  admirable  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  loose  morals  and  seductive  painting  of  the  son  of 
Circe,  and  the  virgin  purity  and  severe  principles  of  the  Lady ! 
and  how  carefully  has  the  poet  secured  the  final  impression  in 
favour  of  virtue,  not  only  by  the  catastrophe,  but  by  the  weight 
of  argument,  conformably  to  his  own  character  and  the  sobriety 
of  the  aye — an  impression  too  little  consulted  in  the  modern  al- 
teration of  Comus  !  This  poem  likewise  possesses  great  beauty 
of  versification,  varying  from  the  lightest  and  gayest  anacreon- 


ISO  MILTON. 

tics,  to  the  most  majestic  and  sonorous  heroics.  On  the  whole, 
if  an  example  were  required  of  a  work  made  up  of  the  very  es- 
sence of  poetry,  perhaps  none  of  equal  length  in  any  language 
could  be  produced  answering  this  character  in  so  high  a  degree 
as  the  Mask  of  Comus.  Its  unfitness  for  a  public  stage  will  be 
deemed  a  small  objection  by  one  who  attributes  this  unfitness 
chiefly  to  its  purity  and  its  poetry.  Were  it  again  to  be  repre- 
sented on  a  nobleman's  private  theatre,  a  presage  might  be 
drawn  of  the  improving  taste  and  morals  of  the  age,  which  mo- 
dern theatricals  (as  they  are  called)  are  very  far  from  affording. 

The  ideas  in  this  piece  are  for  the  most  part  derived  from 
classical  sources.  The  mythology  is  originally  Grecian ;  the 
philosophy  is  that  of  Plato  ;  but  it  has  been  justly  remarked  that 
in  the  language  and  imagery  there  are  various  imitations  of  Eng- 
lish poets.  Those  of  Fletcher's  "  Faithful  Shepherdess"  are  the 
most  conspicuous ;  and  Spenser  and  Shakespear  may  be  traced 
in  particular  passages.  Some  critics  have,  indeed,  asserted  that 
Comus  is  written  "  in  Shakespear's  manner."  I  confess,  I  can- 
not discern  the  resemblance,  unless  it  be  in  the  flow  of  versifica- 
tion, which  has  the  ease  and  freedom  of  that  poet's  best  speci- 
mens. In  other  respects,  the  strain  of  poetry  is  of  a  more  elevated 
and  finished  kind  than  is  to  be  paralleled  in  Shakespear,  except 
in  some  short  passages.  Some  peurile  conceits  are  to  be  found 
in  this  fine  performance  ;  but  they  are  so  few,  that  on  comparing 
the  author  with  himself  at  the  time  of  writing  his  Christmas  hymn, 
he  will  appear  to  have  improved  in  judgment  no  less  than  in  the 
compass  of  his  poetical  powers. 

The  ALLEGRO  and  PENSEROSO  appeared  shortly  after  Comus. 
These  are,  perhaps,  the  most  popular  poems  in  the  English  lan- 
guage, and  have  had  the  greatest  number  of  imitators.  The  live- 
liness, truth,  and  variety  of  their  imagery  accommodate  them  to 
the  taste  of  all  readers  ;  while  the  loftier  strains  to  which  they 
sometimes  ascend,  distinguish  them  from  common  descriptive 
poetry,  and  administer  delight  to  more  select  judges.  I  do  not 
find  that  Milton  has  been  a  borrower  in  the  plan  of  these  pieces, 
which  are  exact  counterparts  to  each  other,  and  form  two  com- 
pletes pictures.  In  the  JMlegro,  or  Cheerful  Man,  all  the  images 
are  assembled  that  are  capable  of  exciting  joy  a'id  pleasure;  and 
with  such  felicity  are  they  displayed,  that  I  believe  no  one  ever 
read  it  wi<hout  feeling  a  temporary  exhilaration  of  soul,  like 
that  from  an  agreeable  prospect,  or  a  lively  strain  of  music. 


MILTON.  181 

n  Penseroso,  or  the  Thoughtful  Contemplative  Man,  presents,  on 
the  contrary,  all  the  images  that  are  adapted  to  excite,  not  a 
black  or  gloomy  melancholy,  (which  appears  to  have  been  the 
conception  of  some  of  its  imitators,)  but  a  sublime  seriousness, 
favourable  to  high  fancy  and  philosophic  musing,  and  in  its  turn 
not  less  grateful  to  the  mind  than  the  former  emotion.  If,  then, 
the  pieces  are  regarded  as  opposites,  they  are  so,  like  day  and 
night,  which  succeed  alternately  in  the  same  harmonious  sys- 
tem, and  gradually  shade  off  into  each  other.  Indeed,  the  dif- 
ferences presented  by  the  diurnal  and  nocturnal  face  of  things 
constitute  much  of  the  distinct  character  of  the  two  pieces  ;  the 
first  of  which  opens  with  early  dawn,  and  pursues  the  course  of 
the  sun,  while  the  second  commences  with  evening,  and  contin- 
ues till  day-break.  Both  shift  the  scene  from  country  to  town ; 
and  in  the  latter,  some  of  their  objects  are  similar,  for  the  pomp 
and  pageantry  of  the  theatre  is  introduced  into  each.  In  the 
Allegro,  however,  the  dramatic  entertainments  are  masks  and 
comedies;  and  it  is  remarkable,  that  in  conjunction  with  Jonson, 
as  a  comic  writer,  the  poet  mentions  Shakespear,  characterising 
him  as  a  "  child  of  fancy,  warbling  his  native  wood  notes  ;"  and 
thus  manifestly  alluding  to  his  creations  of  the  imagination,  such 
as  the  Tempest,  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  and  the  Win- 
ter's Tale;  and  passing  over  his  more  serious  compositions.  And 
when,  in  the  Penseroso,  "  gorgeous  Tragedy"  makes  its  appear- 
ance on  the  scene,  its  subjects  are  represented  to  be  those  of  the 
ancient  Greek  tragic  theatre,  of  which  Milton  was  an  assiduous 
student.  He  hints,  it  is  true,  at  some  modern  attempts  in  this 
species  of  the  drama,  but  terms  them  "  rare,"  and  particularises 
neither  the  works  nor  the  authors. 

It  is  further  observable  in  these  two  pieces,  that  while  the 
personification  with  which  each  commences  is  founded  upon 
classic  mythology,  some  of  the.  most  striking  imagery  in  the  body 
of  the  poems  is  derived  from  those  gothic  fables  and  popular 
superstitions  with  which  he  had  stored  his  imagination  Both 
pieces  terminate  with  the  power  of  musir,  to  which,  numerous 
passages  in  his  works  show  him  to  have  been  uncommonly  sensi- 
ble. Since  musical  expression  adapts  itself  to  a  variety  of  emo- 
tions, there  is  no  incongruity  in  thus  making  both  his  contiast- 
ed  characters  lovers  of  harmony.  Yet  if  Jessica  in  Shakespear 
says  rightly 

I'm  never  toeri'v  \vhen  I  hear  sweet  music, 


182  MILTON. 

which  I  conceive  to  be  founded  on  just  observation,  perhaps,  the 
"Lydian  airs,"  the  "linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out,"  and  the 
"melting  voice,"  are  somewhat  misplaced  as  the  delights  of 
Mirth,  though  they  might  well  belong  to  Pleasure.  The  true 
music  of  Mirth  is,  indeed,  introduced  before,  in  the  "  merry 
bells,'*  and  "jocund  rebecs;"  and  it  is  admirably  echoed  in  the 
light  tripping  versification  of  the  lines  describing  the  scenes  of 
rural  jollity.  So  happily  adapted,  indeed,  is  the  measure  of 
L'Allegro  to  its  subject,  that  we  may  almost  lament  that  the  uni- 
formity of  contrast  obliged  the  poet  to  make  use  of  the  same  in 
the  Penseroso.  Yet,  either  from  the  impression  made  on  the 
mind  by  the  imagery,  or  from  the  poet's  art  in  the  choice  of 
words,  the  ear  does  not  seem,  on  reading  the  latter  piece,  to  re- 
quire a  verse  more  concordant  with  the  subject.  Milton  has 
generally  been  represented  as  not  very  successful  in  his  manage- 
ment of  rhyme  ;  yet  I  think  the  English  language  does  not  afford 
many  better  specimens  of  the  kind  than  the  two  pieces  before 
us  ;  in  which,  though  the  frequent  recurrence  of  the  rhyme  has 
sometimes  given  rise  to  a  constrained  or  unmeaning  expression, 
the  general  flow  is  easy  and  natural,  and  the  coincidences  of 
sound  and  sense  are  sometimes  extremely  happy. 

Another  production  of  nearly  the  same  period  of  Milton's  life 
is  his  LYCIDAS,  a  monody  on  the  death  of  a  friend.  This  is  a 
piece  of  a  singular  cast  and  character,  and  rather  adapted  to  the 
artificial  taste  of  the  academic,  than  the  natural  relish  of  a  com- 
mon reader.  Indeed,  though  it  contains  much  exquisite  poetry, 
which  could  only  have  been  produced  by  a  genius  of  the  first 
class,  it  is  liable,  as  a  whole,  to  many  solid  objections.  The  use 
of  pastoral  allegory,  if  to  be  justified  by  example,  had  at  that 
time  the  practice  of  all  the  most  eminent  poets  in  its  favour. 
Every  occurrence,  joyful  or  sad,  on  which  verse  could  be  de- 
manded, was  habitually  represented  under  the  mask  of  rural  life, 
and  all  the  dramatis  persons  were  converted  into  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses.  Sympathy  fas  Dr.  Johnson  has  well  observed) 
was  almost  entirely  precluded  by  this  abolition  of  reality  ;  and 
besides  the  tiresome  uniformity  of  the  fiction,  the  pastoral  im- 
agery could  only  admit  of  a  very  strained  and  awkward  appli- 
cation to  the  circumstances  of  courtly  and  refined  society.  In 
one  profession,  indeed,  the  allegorical  resemblance  was  favoured 
by  common  language,  and  the  religious  pastor  had  long  been  in 
possession  of  the  character  and  insignia  belonging  to  a  shepherd 


MILTON.  183 

of  the  flock  committed  to  his  charge.  It  had  been  found  a  task 
of  little  difficulty  to  run  parallels  of  considerable  length  and 
minuteness  between  the  metaphorical  pastoral  office,  and  the 
real  one.  Spenser  had  done  this  in  his  "  Shepherd's  Calendar," 
though  with  more  perseverance  than  felicity.  Under  this  dis- 
guise, he  had  spoken  more  freely  than  he  would  probably  have 
otherwise  done,  against  the  corruptions  of  the  church.  This 
was  an  example  which  Milton  would  be  prompt  to  imitate,  for 
one  of  his  earliest  passions  appears  to  have  been  zeal  for  eccle- 
siastical reform.  It  is  not  unlikely,  therefore,  that  the  opportu- 
nity of  uttering  bold  truths  on  a  delicate  and  hazardous  topic, 
was  a  principal  inducement  with  him  to  adopt  the  pastoral  form 
on  the  present  oceasion.  He  was,  moreover,  in  this  poem  to  sup- 
port his  reputation  as  a  scholar,  and  a  member  of  the  university 
of  Cambridge,  which  printed  a  collection  of  funereal  verses  to  the 
memory  of  the  same  unfortunate  youth,  among  which  Lycidas 
first  appeared.  It  should  be  added,  that  Milton's  friendship  with 
the  deceased  was  of  the  most  intimate  and  affectionate  kind ; 
whence  real  feeling  was  likely  to  struggle  for  expression  amid 
the  conceits  of  poetical  fiction.  This  combination  of  views  and 
circumstances  will  account  for  most  of  the  peculiarities  of  the 
performance.  Its  measure  is  loose  and  irregular,  well  suiting 
the  character  of  rusticity  affixed  to  the  poem,  and  favourable  to 
the  sudden  bursts  of  passion  by  which  it  is  animated.  The  ear 
is  occasionally  disappointed  by  missing  the  expected  return  of 
rhyme;  yet  the  general  effect  is  pleasing,  and  the  melody  of  some 
of  the  passages  is  uncommonly  grateful.  The  form  of  verse 
seems  borrowed  from  some  of  the  free  strains  of  Italian  poetry, 
in  which  Milton  was  not  only  a  student,  but  a  composer.  With 
respect  to  the  matter,  it  abounds  in  classical  imitation,  as  well 
in  the  particular  images,  as  in  the  general  style  and  ordonnance. 
Its  basis  is  Virgil's  eclogue  or  elegy  of  "  Gallus  ;"  and  Theocri- 
tus and  other  Grecian  poets  have  contributed  to  its  learned  de- 
corations. The  allegorical  part,  however,  is  derived  from  a  to- 
tally different  source ;  and  no  judicious  critic  will  defend  the 
incongruous  mixture  of  heathen  and  Christian  mythology,  which 
has  sprung  from  the  author's  double  purpose,  of  displaying  his 
erudition,  and  taking  a  part  in  the  theological  contentions  of  the 
time.  Nor  can  it  be  denied  that  the  learning  of  the  piece  some- 
times approaches  to  pedantry,  and  has  too  much  the  air  of  aca- 
demic ostentation.  The  construction  of  some  of  the  sentences 


184  MILTON. 

is  likewise  harsh  and  obscure ;  and  the  expression  of  grief  is  oc- 
casionally too  playful  and  artificial  to  excite  symj-a-hv.  Yet 
these  faults  are  compensated  by  numerous  beauties  of  thought 
and  language;  and  perhaps  no  composition  of  this  author  more 
clearly  indicates  the  poet,  than  his  Lycidas. 

Soon  after  the  printing  of  this  piece,  Milton  visited  France 
and  Italy;  and  the  view  and  society  of  the  latter  country,  then 
the  favourite  seat  of  the  Muses,  may  well  be  supposed  to  have 
fed  his  poetic  enthusiasm  ;  especially,  as  a  patron  of  the  great 
Tasso,  Manso  marquis  of  Villa,  honoured  him  with  his  notice  and 
praises.  His  vein  of  Latin  poetry  does,  indeed,  appear  to  have 
been  refreshed  by  his  travels;  and  Manso,  Diodati,  and  other 
foreign  friends,  were  celebrated  in  new  and  elegant  strains  :  but 
as  an  English  poet  his  voice  was  doomed  to  suffer  a  long  suspen- 
sion, which  might  seem  to  preclude  all  hopes  of  its  revival.  On 
his  return  to  his  native  country,  first  the  engagements  of  a  private 
academy,  comprising  a  very  extensive  plan  of  education  ;  then, 
a  long  and  active  course  of  controversy,  religious  and  political ; 
and  finally,  the  office  of  Latin  secretary  for  state  affairs,  so  much 
occupied  his  time  and  thoughts,  that  the  gentler  Muses  were  de- 
terred from  paying  their  usual  visits.  During  this  long  period, 
scarcely  any  thing  fell  from  his  pen  worthy  the  name  of  poetry, 
except  a  few  sonnets,  written  upon  incidental  topics.  In  this 
elaborate  species  of  composition,  ill  suited  to  our  language  and 
genius,  Milton  can  by  no  means  be  reckoned  a  master.  Few  of 
his  sonnets  exhibit  much  poetical  spirit;  none  much  elegance  of 
versification.  Some  of  them  may  afford  pleasure  by  their  manly 
cast  of  thought  and  vigour  of  expression  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  they 
contribute  nothing  to  his  fame  as  a  poet. 

About  his  50th  year  he  had  the  misfortune  totally  to  lose  his 
sight,  which  had  been  long  in  a  progress  of  decay.  Of  this  ca- 
lamity he  felt  the  full  force,  as  he  has  evinced  by  several  pathe- 
tic passages  in  his  later  works.  But  though  he  complains  that 
"  wisdom  was  at  one  inlet  quite  shut  out,''  it  is  not  probable  that 
his  store  of  poetical  imagery  incurred  any  considerable  diminu- 
tion from  his  loss.  He  had  made  a  poet's  use  of  his  eyes  while 
he  possessed  them ;  and  he  had  long  enough  enjoyed  the  sense 
of  seeing  to  be  indelibly  impressed  with  all  the  ideas  of  beauty 
and  grandeur  which  it  is  capable  of  affording.  Not  long  after- 
wards, the  great  national  change  produced  by  the  Restoration 
exposed  him  to  personal  danger,  and  for  ever  blasted  all  the  hopes 


MILTON.  185 

Ue  might  have  entertained  of  an  easy  and  honoured  old  age.  He  was 
indeed,  suffered  to  live  quietly,  butit  was  in  obscurity  and  discoun- 
tenance : — how  well  deserved,  is  not  here  the  question  ;  but  this 
darkness  and  desolation,  these  "  evil  days,"  as  he  thought  them, 
were  probably  the  efficient  cause  of  the  PARADISE  LOST  !  He  re- 
nounced the  design  of  pursuing  those  tales  of  chivalry  and  romance, 
those  heroical,  but  human  topics  which  had  once  occupied  his  poetic 
meditations  ;  and  he  sought  his  theme,  as  he  did  his  consolation, 
in  those  scriptures  which  had  always  been  a  principal  object  of 
his  study. 

Chief 

Thee,  Sion,  and  the  flowery  brooks  beneath, 
That  wash  thy  hallowed  Feet,  and  warbling  flow, 
Nightly  I  visit.  P.  L.  in.  29. 

It  was  the  divine  Urania  who  now  cheered  his  solitude ;  and 
under  her  inspiration  he  was  satisfied  with  the  consciousness  of 
a  more  than  mortal  flight,  and  with  the  intelligent  applause  of  au 
"  audience  fit,  though  few."  This  was  the  happiest  mood  for  one 
who  was  to  undertake  a  performance  so  great,  so  novel,  so  re- 
mote from  common  tastes  and  examples  ;  for  one  who  was  to  re- 
sign temporary  popularity,  in  order  to  make  future  ages  his  own. 

The  number  of  epic  poems  which  have  obtained  general  and 
lasting  fame  is  so  small,  that  each  is  susceptible  of  being  dis- 
tinctly characterised.  The  PARADISE  LOST  is  essentially  a  theo- 
logical poem.  Its  subject,  properly  speaking,  is  not  merely  that 
announced  in  the  opening — "Man's  first  disobedience,  and  the 
fruit  of  the  forbidden  tree" — but  the  whole  celestial  economy, 
and  that  train  of  events  which  produced  the  creation  of  this 
world,  together  with  the  contest  between  divine  benevolence  and 
diabolical  malignity  in  fixing  the  condition  of  its  inhabitants 
The  disobedience  of  man  is,  indeed,  the  great  incident  which  the 
machinery  is  employed  to  bring  into  effect,  and  which  influences 
all  the  after-events  of  the  piece ;  but  the  cause  of  that  disobe- 
dience is  deeply  laid  in  occurrences  long  anterior  and  of  higher 
importance,  involving  the  fate  and  actions  of  beings  infinitely 
superior  to  the  human.  It  is  in  this  part  alone  that  Milton  ap- 
pears as  an  inventor;  for  his  deference  to  the  authority  of  the 
sacred  writings  has  restrained  him,  in  relating  the  history  or  al- 
legory of  the  fall  of  man,  from  making  any  considerable  addi- 
tions to  the  original  narration.  It  is,  therefore,  a  peculiarity  of 
this  poem,  that  what  in  others  is  called  the  machinery,  and  is  no 
A.  a 


186  MILTON. 

more  than  an  ornamental  adjunct,  or,  at  most,  an  occasional  aux- 
iliary, is,  in  this,  the  main  subject.  For  although  the  fate  of  the 
human  personages  is  the  point  on  which  the  interest  is  concen- 
trated, the  agents  in  its  determination  are  superhuman  beings,  on 
whom  all  the  proper  action  of  the  fable  depends,  and  whose  pow- 
ers and  characters  are  the  principal  objects  of  the  reader's  cu- 
riosity. 

But  since  it  is  impossible  for  a  man  to  form  any  idea  of  moral 
or  intellectual  qualities  which  is  not  primarily  derived  from  hu- 
man nature,  these  beings  of  poetical  creation  must,  after  all,  be 
essentially  men  ;  and  their  discriminating  characters  can  be  no 
other  than  compounds  of  such  qualities  as  we  see  existing  among 
ourselves,  exalted,  perhaps,  in  degree,  but  substantially  the  same. 
To  the  best  and  most  perfect  of  beings  we  can  assign  only  such 
virtue  and  such  wisdom  as  our  experience  of  mankind  has  brought 
to  our  acquaintance;  and  we  can  give  no  other  features  of  vice 
and  depravity  to  the  worst,  than  such  as  we  have  viewed  in  our 
fellow-creatures.  Further,  even  the  external  figures  of  beauty 
and  deformity  in  our  imaginations,  must  be  mere  transcripts  of 
pictures  already  formed  by  our  senses.  We  can  compound  dif- 
ferently from  what  nature  has  done ;  we  can  aggrandise  and  di- 
minish ;  but  we  can  form  no  truly  original  conceptions.  And  as 
the  strongest  impressions,  both  agreeable  and  disgusting,  have 
been  made  upon  us  by  beings  in  the  human  shape,  there  is  no 
other  which  we  can  so  happily  associate  with  moral  character. 

AH  poets,  therefore,  from  Homer  to  his  latest  successors,  who 
have  intermixed  machinery  with  their  fables,  have  done  no  more 
than  superinduce  a  set  of  agents  really  human,  though  distin- 
guished by  a  different  local  residence,  and  by  the  possession  of 
powers  and  attributes  which  in  man  would  be  called  supernatu- 
ral. The  grossness  of  the  heathen  mythology  even  caused  the 
celestial  personages  to  fall  below  the  human,  in  all  that  consti- 
tutes real  dignity  of  nature.  The  divinities  of  Homer  and  Virgil 
are  distinguished  by  nothing  so  much  as  bad  passions,  and  an  in- 
satiable appetite  for  doing  mischief;  and  the  heroes  of  those  poets 
are  much  more  estimable  than  the  gods.  Milton's  system,  as  it 
was  infinitely  superior  to  theirs  in  a  moral  view,  so  it  was  more 
favourable  to  poetical  effect.  By  dividing  his  spiritual  beings  into 
the  two  great  classes  of  good  and  ba«i,  he  was  able  to  keep  their 
character  and  agency  perfectly  distinct,  and  to  exhibit  opposite 
moral  qualities  in  all  their  strength  and  purity.  At  the  same 


MILTON.  187 

time,  by  assigning  to  each  class  a  community  of  natural  powers, 
he  produced  that  kind  of  balance  which  was  requisite  to  throw 
any  interest  upon  scenes  in  which  they  should  be  opposed  to 
each  other.  A  difficulty  however  occurred,  which  it  was  impos- 
sible entirely  to  surmount,  and  which,  in  fact,  forms  the  chief  de- 
fect of  the  plan  of  Paradise  Lost.  The  transcendent  excellence 
of  the  Supreme  Being  in  the  Jewish  and  Christian  systems,  to 
which  Milton  has  most  religiously  adhered,  places  him  so  much 
beyond  all  parallel  in  respect  to  power  and  dignity,  and  renders 
him  so  indubitably  the  master  of  all  events,  that  the  ambiguity 
of  success  which  might  be  preserved  in  a  mere  contention  be- 
tween angelic  beings,  similar  in  power,  though  opposite  in  cha^ 
racter,  is  entirely  destroyed,  when  the  good  are  represented  as 
the  immediate  delegates  and  ministers  of  the  Deity,  and  aided 
by  his  resistless  might.  Homer  could  make  even  Jupiter  him- 
self subject  to  the  decrees  of  Fate ;  but  the  God  of  Milton  is  the 
creator  of  fate,  the  original  planner  and  sovereign  disposer  of 
every  occurrence.  It  is  not,  however,  the  philosophical  difficul- 
ty of  an  intermixture  of  evil  in  a  world  created  by  infinite  power 
and  infinite  goodness,  which  peculiarly  presses  upon  our  poet; 
but  it  is  the  contest  which  he  imagines  between  the  partisans 
and  the  adversaries  of  the  Supreme  Being.  The  latter  of  these, 
though  in  their  pristine  state  admitted  to  a  direct  view  and  com- 
prehension of  the  divine  majesty,  must  yet  be  supposed  to  have 
entertained  the  absurd  idea  of  effectual  resistance  to  his  will ; 
while  the  former,  firm  in  their  faith,  and  confident  in  the  match , 
less  power  of  their  great  Lord,  have  no  room  left  for  the  exer- 
tion of  those  virtues  which  most  inspire  esteem  and  admiration. 
Hence,  although  the  original  revolt  of  Satan  and  his  party  is  an 
act  of  madness,  for  which  an  adequate  motive  can  scarcely  be 
conceived,  yet  in  the  subsequent  transactions,  every  display  of 
the  qualities  which  can  be  termed  heroical  necessarily  belong  to 
them.  Courage  to  dare,  fortitude  to  endure,  perseverance  and 
self  devotion  in  the  chief,  tried  fidelity  in  the  followers,  are  only 
to  be  found  among  those  who  contend  under  circumstances  of 
known  danger  and  difficulty,  and  struggle  with  misfortune  and 
discomfiture.  The  Son,  moving  on  to  sure  victory,  armed  with 
all  the  terrors  of  his  Father's  majesty,  is  indeed  a  most  awful 
and  sublime  figure  ;  but  Satan,  taking  upon  himself  an  enterprise 
full  of  toil  and  hazard,  which  had  made  the  boldest  of  his  chiefs 
to  shudder,  and  regarding  his  exalted  station  only  as  a  call  to 


188  MILTON. 

higher  exertions  for  the  general  advantage,  is  a  real  hero.  Nov 
can  we  withhold  a  sentiment  of  applause  and  sympathy  for  that 
fallen  host  which 

—    —    —    —    —    faithful  stood 
Their  glory  wither'd  ; 

and  in  the  midst  of  "  fierce  pains,"  prided  themselves  in  obe- 
dience to  their  great  leader. 

It  must  then,  I  think,  be  allowed  that  Paradise  Lost  really 
labours  under  the  defect  which  has  been  charged  upon  it,  that  of 
engaging  the  high  passions  at  the  commencement  of  the  poem  in 
favour  of  the  cause  it  is  meant  to  condemn.  Yet  the  art  of  the 
poet  in  counteracting  this  impression,  by  assigning  a  perpetual 
superiority  in  point  of  sanctity  and  purity  of  sentiment  to  the 
angelic  host,  and  making  the  devils  themselves  depose,  as  it 
were,  in  testimony  of  the  justice  as  well  as  the  power  of  that 
Being  against  whom  they  have  revolted,  is  eminently  conspicu- 
ous. It  may  be  added,  that  in  proportion  as  the  fate  of  the  hu- 
man persons  of  the  fable  becomes  more  interesting,  the  diaboli- 
cal machinations  against  them  excite  more  detestation ;  and  that 
Satan  and  his  crew  at  length  lose  all  their  grandeur,  and  sink 
into  equal  contempt  and  abhorence.'  It  is  true,  this  change  is 
the  cause  that  the  latter  books  fall  extremely  short  of  the  earlier 
in  sublimity ;  and  that  the  reader's  interest,  which  undoubtedly 
at  the  commencement  is  placed  upon  the  contest  in  heaven,  is 
finally  transferred  to  a  totally  different  scene,  and  to  new 
actors. 

The  field  in  which  the  imagination  of  Milton  freely  expatiates 
is  the  extra-mundane  system,  the  regions  of  heaven,  hell,  and 
chaos.  In  describing  and  peopling  these  scenes,  he  has  display- 
ed a  force  and  sublimity  of  conception  which  no  poet  has  ever 
equalled.  He  has  expanded  our  ideas  to  the  utmost  limits  of 
possibility;  and  has  filled  the  fancy  with  things  new  and  strange, 
many  of  which,  painted  by  an  inferior  artist,  would  have  formed 
only  grotesques,  but  under  the  touch  of  his  genius  become  pic- 
tures of  unparalleled  grandeur.  It  cannot,  however,  he  affirmed 
that  his  success  is  every  where  alike  ;  for  while  his  view  of  the 
infernal  mansions,  his  council  in  Pandemonium,  and  his  Satanic 
voyage,  are  replete  with  the  true  sublime  in  imagery  and  senti- 
ment, his  battle  between  the  faithful  and  the  revolted  angels  is 
puerile  and  full  of  inconsistencies.  Scenes  of  combat  are  grand 


MILTON.  189 

in  human  action*  because  they  call  forth  exertions  of  the  soul, 
which,  however  mischievous  in  their  effects,  we  cannot  help  ad- 
miring; but,  transferred  to  immortal  and  nearly  impassive  be 
ings,  they  become  mere  child's  play.  They  resemble  those  en- 
gagements  of  Italian  mercenaries  in  complete  armour,  in  which, 
after  half  a  day's  fighting,  scarcely  any  other  mischief  was  done, 
than  unhorsing  some  of  the  combatants,  and  trampling  them  in 
the  dirt.  That  the  sixth  book  of  Paradise  Lost  should  have 
been  the  subject  of  so  much  admiration,  must  be  attributed  to  an 
artificial  taste  formed  by  the  works  of  Homer  and  his  imitators, 
which  gave  to  deeds  of  arms  the  first  place  among  the  splendid 
incidents  of  epic  poetry.  Yet  there  are  in  it  many  detached 
passages  of  great  excellence,  and  the  diction  is  highly  animated 
and  poetical. 

If  the  sublimity  of  Milton's  genius  is  chiefly  displayed  in  his 
flight  to  regions  beyond  human  ken,  its  elegance  and  beauty  are 
most  conspicuous  where  he  descends  to  earth,  and  paints  the  first 
pair  of  mankind  in  that  delicious  Paradise  which  was  the  happy 
abode  of  their  innocence.  Nothing  can  be  more  admirable  than  the 
art  with  which  he  has  allied  all  the  tender  softness  and  even  the 
voluptuousness  of  the  Italian  school,  with  the  purity  and  sanc- 
tity of  a  religious  record.  Descriptions  so  charming  to  the  sense 
were  never  before  joined  to  sentiments  so  dignifying  to  the  soul. 
It  must,  however,  be  observed,  that  the  features  of  character  he 
has  given  to  Adam  and  Eve  do  not  altogether  accord  with  that 
simplicity  which  might  be  expected  in  beings  newly  created,  and 
whose  minds  must  be  totally  unpractised  in  abstract  reasoning 
and  reflection.  Adam,  in  particular,  exhibits  a  fund  of  moral 
wisdom  which  in  him  could  not  possibly  be  the  acquisition  of 
experience ;  and  the  manner  in  which  he  is  affected  with  what 
he  beholds  in  reality  or  vision,  is  by  no  means  that  of  one  who 
views  objects  for  the  first  time.  This  prematurity  of  understand- 
ing, however,  seems  in  a  certain  degree  necessary  in  order  to 
render  them  actors  in  the  scenes  in  which  they  are  engaged;  in- 
deed, the  very  use  of  speech  in  them  supposes  a  faculty  acquired 
differently  from  the  common  mode  of  practice  and  instruction. 
The  Rabbins  have  assigned  to  the  first  man  perfect  knowledge 
of  all  arts  and  sciences.  Milton  has  been  contented  with  repre- 
senting him  as  possessed  of  strong  sense  and  ready  apprehen- 
sion ;  and  though,  philosophically  speaking,  there  may  be  as  much 
error  in  his  conception  of  the  character,  as  in  that  of  the  Ilab- 


190  MILTON. 

Wns,  yet  he  will  scarcely  be  found  to  have  exceeded  the  license 
which  the  construction  of  his  fable  demanded.  As  the  scriptural 
account  of  the  temptation  and  fall,  to  which  Milton  has  literally 
adhered,  was  not  sufficient  to  fill  up  the  measure  of  an  epic 
poem,  he  has  enlarged  the  field  of  human  action,  by  a  proleptical 
view  of  the  leading  events  which  were  to  attend  the  descendants 
of  Adam,  communicated  in  vision  or  narration  through  the  min- 
istry of  the  angel  Michael.  For  this  kind  of  anticipation  lie  had 
an  example  and  authority  in  the  practice  of  several  of  his  pre- 
decessors ;  and  he  has  employed  it  with  the  happiest  effect.  The 
pictures  of  peace  and  war,  of  the  deluge,  and  of  the  patriarchal 
life,  are  scarcely  to  be  surpassed  by  any  scenes  of  descriptive 
poetry,  and  they  contribute  to  sustain  the  interest  of  the  piece, 
which,  after  the  great  catastrophe  of  the  fall,  would  otherwise  be 
apt  to  languish.  For  though  Milton  seems  to  have  considered  the 
purely  theological  part  of  his  work  as  the  most  important,  and 
to  have  expected  that  his  elaborate  argumentations  concerning 
free-will,  grace,  justification,  atonement,  and  the  like,  would 
engage  the  attention  of  the  religious  reader,  it  may  safely  be 
affirmed  that  Paradise  Lost  would  long  ago  have  been  consigned 
to  oblivion,  had  these  been  its  only  topics.  And  it  is  undoubtedly 
the  large  admixture  of  passages  in  which 

God  the  Father  turns  a  school  divine, 

that  justifies  the  assertion,  that  it  is  a  poem  "  more  praised  than 
read  ;''  and  that  few  who  sit  down  to  read  it  through  do  not  find 
it  a  task  of  which  they  grow  somewhat  weary  before  it  is  accom- 
plished. But,  in  reality,  long  compositions  in  poetry  are  seldom 
re-perused  in  their  whole  extent;  and  the  reader,  whose  curiosi- 
ty with  respect  to  the  plan  and  termination  is  already  gratified, 
usually  contents  himself  afterwards  with  recurring  to  favourite 
passages  of  distinguished  excellence.  Of  such  passages,  what 
piece  can  boast  more  than  Paradise  Lost ;  and  whither  can  the 
exhausted  mind  resort  with  surer  success,  to  renovate  itself  with 
those  high  ideas  and  enthusiastic  sensations,  which  it  is  the  pre- 
rogative of  poetry  to  excite  in  so  superior  a  degree  ? 

The  style  of  this  poem  is  in  some  measure  characteristic  of  its 
nature  and  subject.  With  the  severe  and  even  naked  simplicity 
of  primitive  language,  it  unites  every  figurative  form  that  can 
give  elevation  and  dignity  to  speech,  and  that  uncommon  con- 


MILTON.  191 

struction  and  use  of  words  which  impresses  the  stamp  of  erudi- 
tion. It  is,  indeed,  to  be  observed,  that  Milton's  prose  is  formed 
upon  a  like  imitation  of  the  languages  of  antiquity  ;  and  this  taste 
seems  to  have  grown  upon  him  as  he  advanced  in  years.  Perhaps, 
a  sense  of  the  increasing  weight  and  importance  of  his  subjects 
led  him  to  clothe  his  thoughts  iiKterms  more  remote  from  vulgar 
use.  It  is  certain,  likewise,  that  the  example  of  the  ancient  poets 
themselves,  particularly  Virgil  and  his  followers,  sanctioned  the 
practice  of  employing  antiquated  words  and  the  anomalies  of  dic- 
tion, in  order  to  establish  a  characteristic  difference  between  the 
styles  of  poetry  and  prose.  The  annotators  on  Milton  seem  in 
general  to  have  regarded  as  peculiar  beauties  his  learned  forms 
of  phraseology  and  foreign  senses ;  and  many  of  his  imitators  ap- 
pear to  have  thought  that  in  these  particulars  consisted  the  es- 
sence of  Miltonic  diction.  I  confess  it,  however,  to  be  my  opinion 
that  his  taste  really  suffered  from  the  barbarism  of  a  controver- 
sial age,  in  the  disputes  of  which  he  had  borne  so  conspicuous  a 
part ;  and  that,  although  his  poetical  genius  had  been  wonder- 
fully preserved  amid  the  wreck  of  elegant  literature,  his  delicate 
perception  of  beauty  and  propriety  in  expression  had  been  some- 
what impaired  since  the  golden  days  of  his  Comus. 

With  respect  to  the  versification  of  Paradise  Lost,  it  is  justly 
considered  as  exhibiting  the  whole  compass  of  harmony  and  va- 
riety of  which  blank  verse  is  capable.  No  poet  seems  to  have 
possessed  a  more  musical  ear  than  Milton ;  and  as  well  in  the 
simple  melody  of  varied  pauses,  as  in  the  adaptation  of  sounds 
to  particular  expressions,  he  displays  all  the  power  of  a  master. 
At  the  same  time,  it  must  be  allowed  that  his  long  work  abounds 
with  instances  of  violations  of  the  common  rules  of  measure, 
which  would  scarcely  be  tolerated  in  an  inferior  writer.  Of  these, 
however,  a  part  are  to  be  imputed  to  design  ;  the  irregularity  or 
defect  being  manifestly  accommodated  to  the  meaning:  and  the 
judgment  of  the  poet  in  such  cases  has  been  sanctioned  by  the 
admiration  of  critics  and  imitators.  A  much  greater  number  are 
merely  the  products  of  haste  and  negligence;  of  a  mind  too 
much  absorbed  by  serious  contemplations  to  attend  to  the  nice- 
ties of  position  ;  and  pouring  forth  unpremeditated  strains,  which 
the  fervor  of  his  temper,  joined  with  his  bodily  infirmity,  did  not 
permit  him  to  elaborate  into  perfection.  These  may  well  be  ex- 
cused, but  it  is  prejudice  or  false  taste  to  admire  them  ;  and  they 
who  have  made  Milton's  negligences  an  apology  for  their  own 


192  MILTON. 

indolence  or  carelessness,  should  have  reflected  that  when  faults 
tire  tolerated,  it  is  in  consideration  of  a  decided  preponderancy 
of  excellencies. 

After  the  attention  bestowed  upon  Paradise  Lost,  few  remarks 
•will  suffice  respecting  PARADISE  REGAINED.  This  poem,  whether 
it  be  ranked  among  the  epic  or  heroic,  is  in  reality  a  kind  of  af- 
ter piece,  springing  rather  from  the  theological  than  the  poetical 
conception  of  the  great  work  above  mentioned.  This  idea  of  it 
is  confirmed  by  the  history  of  its  origin,  which  was  from  the  sug- 
gestion of  the  quaker  El  wood,  who  seems  to  have  thought  the 
poet's  task  incomplete,  till  he  should  have  rounded  his  system 
by  adding  a  Paradise  Found  to  a  Paradise  Lost.  Its  subject  is  a 
single  event  in  the  history  of  Christ ;  his  temptation  by  Satan  in 
the  wilderness:  and  it  is  very  remarkable,  that  in  Milton's  divinitv 
the  triumph  of  the  Son  of  God  on  this  occasion  should  be  consi- 
dered as  of  itself  completing  the  redemption  of  mankind,  and  be- 
ing the  efficient  cause  of  the  recovery  of  Paradise.  The  commen- 
tators suppose  that  he  adopted  this  notion,  for  the  sake  of  con- 
trasting that  disobedience  of  Adam  which  caused  him  to  yield  to 
temptation,  with  the  obedience  of  Christ,  which  enabled  him  to 
resist  it.  But  whatever  be  thought  of  the  soundness  of  Milton's 
theology  in  this  point,  his  poetical  judgment  may  justly  be  called 
in  question :  for,  the  Temptation  forms  so  inconsiderable  a  part 
of  that  eventful  history  of  the  life  and  actions  of  the  founder  of 
the  Christian  religion,  which  is  indelibly  impressed  upon  the  me- 
mory of  every  reader  of  the  scriptures,  that  it  is  impossible  the 
mind  can  be  satisfied  with  a  narration  of  it  given  as  a  whole,  and 
made  a  kind  of  parallel  to  the  splendid  story  of  Paradise  Lost. 
The  awful  words,  //  is  finished,  will  never  by  a  Christian  be  taken 
from  the  solemn  catastrophe  of  the  death  of  his  Saviour,  and  be 
applied  to  the  completion  of  his  first  trial. 

The  Temptation,  however,  considered  as  a  single  scene  of  the 
great  drama,  possesses  that  character  of  the  marvellous,  which 
renders  it  not  unsuitable  for  poetry.  It  is  true,  there  is  less  ac- 
tion in  it  than  discourse  ;  and  Milton's  reverence  for  the  original 
records  would  not  permit  him  to  make  any  material  addition  to 
the  circumstances  ;  yet  he  has  happily  intermixed  with  the  dia- 
logue, which  forms  the  chief  matter  of  the  piece,  as  great  a  va- 
riety of  description  as  the  subject  would  afford.  It  perhaps  had 
been  better  for  him  to  have  avoided  any  community  of  poetical 
fiction  with  the  Paradise  Lost,  since  it  was  not  likely  that  his 


MILTON.  193 

fancy  should  again  soar  to  the  sublime  heights  it  had  reached  in 
that  poem.  Thus,  the  consultation  among  the  infernal  powers 
which  forms  the  machinery  of  Paradise  Regained,  is  so  faint  a 
copy  of  Pandemonium,  and  Satan  and  his  chiefs  appear  in  it  with 
a  lustre  so  diminished,  that  the  character  of  an  inferior  produc- 
tion is  at  once  fixed  in  the  reader's  mind.  Without  such  a  pa- 
rallel, Paradise  Regained  might  well  sustain  itself,  as  a  work 
abounding  in  excellent  reasoning  and  sentiment,  and  containing 
many  pleasing  sketches  of  natural  scenery.  There  are  even  parts 
in  which  the  Miltonic  genius  displays  itself  in  all  the  vigour  of 
its  best  days  ;  nor  do  I  know  any  passages  in  all  the  works  of 
this  great  poet  to  which  a  reader  may  oftener  recur  with  fresh 
delight,  than  those  in  which  bird's-eye  views  are  painted  of  the 
three  capitals,  Ctesiphon,  Rome,  and  Athens.  It  is  impossible 
for  learning  more  happily  to  aid  the  imagination,  than  it  has  done 
in  suggesting  the  characteristic  features  by  which  these  places  are 
distinguished  and  contrasted  ;  and  the  pen  never  more  perfectly 
fulfilled  the  task  of  the  pencil  than  in  these  living  descriptions. 
On  the  whole,  though  Paradise  Regained  was  justly  regarded  by 
the  public  as  a  falling-off  from  the  majesty  of  Paradise  Lost,  yet 
it  is  a  piece  which  Milton  only  could  have  written,  and  bears  all 
the  peculiar  marks  of  his  master  hand.  Tradition  says  that  it 
was  his  own  favourite  work,  and  this  circumstance  has  been  ad- 
duced as  a  proof  of  the  incompetencv  of  a  writer  to  judge  of  his 
own  performances.  But  is  probable  that  Milton,  in  this  case, 
judged  rather  as  a  theologian  than  as  a  poet;  and  having  with 
much  art  contrived  to  introduce  all  the  leading  doctrines  of 
Christianity  into  this  piece,  he  considered  it  as  the  consumma- 
tion of  a  grand  scheme,  and  measured  its  value  by  the  impor- 
tance of  its  subject. 

There  remains  to  speak  of  the  only  tragedy  composed  by  Mil- 
ton, his  SAMSON  AGONISTES,  also  the  work  of  this  declining  pe- 
riod of  his  life.  We  are  not  to  conceive  of  Milton  as  a  writer 
for  a  modern  stage.  His  own  taste,  and  that  of  the  public  at  his 
time,  with  respect  to  dramatic  compositions,  were  formed  upon 
totally  different  principles;  nor  could  his  name  and  character  be 
expected  to  obtain  favour  for  him  in  an  English  theatre.  He, 
therefore,  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  adapt  his  Samson  for 
the  stage;  whence  it  appears  without  any  division  into  acts  and 
scenes.  His  idea  of  tragedy  was  entirely  derived  from  Grecian 
models,  which  he  has  finely  characterised  in  the  following  lines  : 
Bb 


194  MILTON. 

Thence  what  the  lofty  grave  tragedians  taught 

In  Chorus  or  Iambic,  teachers  hest 

Of  moral  prudence,  with  delight  received 

In  brief  sententious  precepts,  while  they  treat 

Of  Fate,  and  Chance,  and  change  in  human  life, 

High  actions  and  high  passions  best  describing. 

Par.  Reg.  iv.  261. 

It  is  this  strain  of  moral  precept  and  sententious  remark  which 
he  has  chosen  for  his  imitation  ;  and  he  has  chosen  as  their  vehi- 
cle a  story  simple  in  its  texture,  affording  neither  the  intricacies 
of  plot,  nor  the  play  of  violent  passions.  Indeed,  as  Milton's 
knowledge  of  mankind  appears  to  have  been  drawn  more  from 
books  than  from  personal  observation,  and  to  have  consisted 
rather  in  general  propositions  than  particular  facts,  he  was  little 
qualified  to  paint  the  genuine  language  of  passion,  or  to  trace 
the  workings  of  the  affections  through  all  the  windings  of  the 
heart.  But  what  he  attempted,  he  well  performed.  He  gave  a 
closet  drama,  replete  with  admirable  maxims  of  prudence  and 
morality,  public  and  private ;  containing,  indeed,  few  passages 
of  high  poetry,  but  many  sentences  of  strong  and  nervous  ex- 
pression, excellently  fitted  to  dwell  upon  the  memory,  and  to 
make  a  part  of  that  store  of  true  philosophy  which,  in  a  well- 
furnished  mind,  lies  ready  for  the  uses  of  life.  The  most  pa- 
thetic part  of  this  piece  is  Samson's  lamentation  for  his  blind- 
ness, in  which  the  poet  copied  from  his  own  sensations.  The 
scene  with  Harapha  is  spirited  ;  and  the  description  of  the  final 
catastrophe  has  the  colouring  of  a  master.  It  is  observable,  that 
though  the  form  of  the  composition  is  Grecian,  the  manners  and 
sentiments  are  purely  Hebrew,  in  strict  conformity  to  the  scene 
and  persons.  It  has  been  invidiously  suggested,  that  Milton 
chose  the  story  of  Samson  for  the  opportunity  it  gave  him  of 
satirising  bad  wives.  I  should  rather  imagine,  that  the  assertion 
of  pure  religion,  and  the  resistance  of  tyrannical  power,  were 
the  chief  circumstances  which  gave  him  a  predilection  for  this 
fable  ;  though  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  here,  as  well  as  in 
his  Paradise  Lost,  he  holds  extremely  high  the  authority  of  a  hus- 
band, and  represents  the  female  sex  as  objects  of  caution  and 
suspicion  to  a  wise  man. 

Such,  in  a  compendious  view,  are  the  Poems  of  Milton,  the 
richest  treasure  of  the  kind  our  language  possesses,  unless  an 
exec  fion  be  pleaded  for  the  works  of  Shakespeare.  But  although 
these  abound  in  passages  of  the  noblest  poetry,  yet  their  distin- 


MILTON.  195 

guishing  merit  is  of  another  kind.  It  is  the  insight  into  the  hu- 
man heart,  and  the  delineation  of  all  its  passions  and  affections, 
which  place  Shakespeare. beyond  all  competition  among  his  bro- 
ther dramatists..  In  pure  poetry,  his  flights,  though  lofty,  are 
short  and  wavering ;  while  Milton,  upborne  by  the  combined 
powers  of  native  genius  and  unremitting  study,  elevated  by  all 
that  can  give  force  and  dignity  to  the  mind,  holds  on  a  stead- 
fast course,  which  knows  no  limits  but  those  impassable  by  the 
human  intellect. 


AN  ESSAY 

ON 

THE  HEROIC   POEM 

OF 


A  PERSON  engaged  in  the  pursuit  of  literary  fame  must  be 
severely  mortified  on  observing  the  very  speedy  neglect  into 
which  writers  of  high  merit  so  frequently  fall.  The  revolution 
of  centuries,  the  extinction  of  languages,  the  vast  convulsions 
which  agitate  a  whole  people,  are  causes  which  may  well  be  sub- 
mitted to  in  overwhelming  an  author  with  oblivion ;  but  that  in 
the  same  country,  with  little  variation  of  language  or  manners, 
the  delights  of  one  age  should  become  utter  strangers  in  the  next, 
is  surely  an  immaturity  of  fate  which  conveys  reproach  upon  the 
inconsistency  of  national  taste.  That  noble  band,  the  English 
Poets,  have  ample  reason  for  complaining  to  what  unjust  guar- 
dians they  have  entrusted  their  renown.  While  we  crown  the 
statue  of  Shakespeare  as  the  prince  of  dramatic  poets,  shall  we 
forget  the  works,  and  almost  the  names,  of  his  contemporaries 
who  possessed  so  much  of  a  kindred  spirit?  Shall  the  Italian 
Pastor  Fido  and  Amynta  stand  high  in  our  estimation,  and  the 
Faithful  Shepherdess,  the  most  beautiful  pastoral  that  a  poet's 
fancy  ever  formed,  be  scarcely  known  amongst  us?  Shall  we 
feel  the  fire  of  heroic  poetry  in  translations  from  Greece  and 
Rome,  and  never  search  for  it  in  the  native  productions  of  our 
own  country  ? 

The  capital  work  of  Sir  William  D'avenant,  which  I  now  de- 
sire to  call  forth  from  its  obscurity,  may  well  be  considered  as 
in  a  state  ol  oblivion,  since  we  no  where  meet  with  allusions  to 
it,  or  quotations  from  it,  in  our  modern  writers ;  and  few,  1  ima- 
gine, even  of  the  professed  students  in  English  classics,  would 


GONDIBERT.  197 

think  their  taste  discredited  by  confessing  that  they  had  never 
read  GONDIBERT.  A  very  learned  and  ingenious  critic,  iii  his 
well-known  Discourse  upon  Poetical  Imitation,  has,  indeed,  taken 
notice  of  this  poem  ;  but  though  he  bestows  all  due  praise  upon 
its  author,  yet  the  purpose  for  which  it  is  mentioned  being  to  in- 
stance an  essential  error,  we  cannot  suppose  that  his  authority 
has  served  to  gain  it  more  readers.  Having  very  judiciously  laid 
it  down  as  a  general  observation,  that  writers  by  studiously  avoid- 
ing the  fancied  disgrace  of  imitation  are  apt  to  fall  into  improper 
methods,  forced  conceits,  and  affected  expression ;  he  proceeds 
to  introduce  the  work  in  question  after  the  following  manner: 
"  And,  that  the  reader  may  not  suspect  me  of  asserting  this 
without  experience,  let  me  exemplify  what  has  been  here  said  in 
the  case  of  a  very  eminent  person,  who,  with  all  the  advantages 
of  art  and  nature  that  could  be  required  to  adorn  the  true  poet, 
was  ruined  by  this  single  error.  The  person  I  mean  was  Sir 
WILLIAM  D'AVENANT,  whose  Gondibert  will  remain  a  perpetual 
monument  of  the  mischiefs  which  must  ever  arise  from  this  af- 
fectation of  originality  in  lettered  and  polite  poets." 

A  considerable  degree  of  deference  is  undoubtedly  due  to  a 
critic  of  such  acknowledged  taste  and  abilities  ;  yet,  since  it  ap- 
pears to  me  that  in  this  instance  he  writes  under  the  influence 
of  system  and  learned  prejudice,  I  shall  venture  to  canvass  the 
principles  upon  which  he  supports  his  censure. 

The  method  of  Gondibert  is  first  objected  to  by  Dr.  Kurd,  and 
upon  two  accounts.  First,  that  the  compass  of  the  poem  is  con- 
tracted from  the  limits  of  the  ancient  epic,  to  those  of  the  dra- 
matic form  ;  and  by  this  means,  pursuing  a  close  accelerated  plot, 
the  opportunity  is  lost  of  introducing  digressive  ornaments,  and 
of  giving  that  minuteness  of  description  which  confers  an  air  of 
reality.  Now,  since  the  author  sets  out  with  disavowing  the 
common  rules  of  epic  poetry,  it  is  certainly  unjust  to  try  him  by 
those  rules.  That  effects  are  not  produced  which  he  never  de- 
signed to  produce,  can  be  no  matter  of  blame ;  we  have  only  to 
examine  the  justness  of  the  design  itself.  It  is  wrong  to  expect 
incompatible  qualities  as  well  in  compositions  as  in  men.  A 
work  cannot  at  the  same  time  possess  force  and  diffusiveness, 
rapidity  and  minuteness. 

Every  one  who  has  read  Homer  with  prejudice,  will,  I  doubt 
not,  confess  that  the  effects  which  should  result  from  the  great 
events  of  the  story  are  much  broken  and  impeded  by  that  very 


198  GONDIBERT. 

minuteness  of  description,  and  frequency  of  digression,  which 
D'avenant  is  blamed  for  rejecting.  The  mind,  warmed  by  an 
interesting  narration,  either  in  history,  poetry,  or  romance,  re- 
quires the  writer  to  keep  up  with  its  exertions,  and  cannot  bear 
him  to  flag  in  his  pace,  or  turn  aside  in  pursuit  of  other  objects. 
The  proper  end  of  epic  poetry,  according  to  Dr.  Hurd,  is  admi- 
ration. This,  I  imagine,  would  by  no  means  have  been  allowed 
by  our  author,  who  seems  rather  to  have  placed  it  in  interesting 
the  passions,  inculcating  noble  sentiments,  and  informing  the 
understanding.  Nor  does  it  answer  the  idea  of  Horace,  who 
praises  Homer  for  his  moral  lessons,  for  teaching 

quid  sit  pulchrum,quid  turpe,  quid  utile,  quid  noo. 

However,  a  due  limitation  of  subject,  and  something  of  rapid- 
ity in  pursuing  it,  appear  very  necessary  to  the  production  of  a 
considerable  effect  of  what  kind  soever  ;  and  a  pompous- display 
of  foreign  circumstances  must  always  debilitate  more  than  adorn. 
It  appears  an  extremely  bad  compliment  to  an  epic  poem,  to  say 
that  its  chief  beauty  lies  in  the  episodes.  Indeed,  epic  poetry  as 
existing  in  the  models  of  antiquity,  or  their  copies,  by  no  means, 
I  think,  deserves  the  title  given  by  critics,  of  the  highest  species 
of  poetical  composition.  The  tedious  compass  of  the  subject,  the 
necessity  of  employing  so  large  a  share  of  the  work  in  the  rela- 
tion of  trifling  occurrences  for  the  sake  of  connection,  and  the 
frequency  of  interruptions  from  collateral  matter,  inevitably 
cause  both  the  poet's  exertions  and  the  reader's  attention  to  in- 
termit ;  and  it  is  no  wonder  that  Homer  and  Virgil,  too,  some- 
times nod  over  their  labours.  The  author  of  Gondibert  seems  to 
have  been  sensible  of  these  inconveniences,  and,  upon  fair  com- 
parison of  the  epic  and  dramatic  form,  to  have  preferred  the  lat- 
ter as  capable  of  more  spirit,  and  uniform  dignity  We  shall  find, 
however,  in  reviewing  the  poem,  that  he  has  by  no  means  re- 
stricted himself  so  narrowly  as  to  preclude  all  ornamental  devi- 
ations ;  and  though  they  may  not  deserve  the  title  of  episodes, 
yet  in  his  short  and  unfinished  piece,  they  have  all  the  desirable 
effect  of  a  pleasing  variety. 

The  second  objection  which  Dr.  Hurd  brings  against  the  me- 
thod of  this  poem,  is  the  rejection  of  all  supernatural  agency,  or 
what  constitutes  the  machinery  of  the  ancient  epic  poem.  But, 
for  this,  the  critic  himself  offers  a  vindication,  when  he  commends 
the  author  for  not  running  into  the  wild  fables  of  the  Italian  ro- 


GONDIBERT.  199 

mancers,  "  which  had  too  slender  a  foundation  in  the  serious  be- 
lief of  his  age  to  justify  a  relation  to  them."  Now  by  making 
this  belief  Sin  essential  rule  of  propriety  with  respect  to  the  ma- 
chinery, an  author  in  an  enlightened  period,  such  as  that  of  D'ave- 
nant,  is,  in  effect,  prohibited  from  its  use  altogether ;  for  the  ab- 
stracted nature  of  a  pure  and  philosophical  religion  renders  it 
utterly  unfit  for  the  purposes  of  poetical  fiction.  The  works  of 
such  Christian  poets  as  have  attempted  to  form  a  system  of  ma- 
chinery upon  the  ideas  of  saints,  angels,  and  tutelary  spirits,  will 
sufficiently  prove  that  their  religion,  even  with  a  mixture  of  pop- 
ular superstition,  was  ill  calculated  to  assist  their  imagination. 
Two  writers,  whom  one  would  little  expect  to  meet  upon  the 
same  ground,  feir  Richard  Blackmore  and  Voltaire,  have  given 
instances  of  the  same  faulty  plan  in  this  respect ;  and  nothing 
in  the  good  Knight's  epic  labours  can  more  deserve  the  attack  of 
ridicule,  than  the  divine  mission  in  the  Henriade  for  instructing 
his  Majesty  in  the  sublime  mysteries  of  transubstantiation. 

It  was  a  very  just  charge  which  Plato  brought  against  Homer, 
that  he  had  greatly  contributed  to  debase  religion  by  the  unwor- 
thy and  absurd  representations  he  has  given  of  the  celestial  be- 
ings, both  with  respect  to  their  power  and  their  justice  ;  and  this 
is  a  fault  which  the  poet  must  always  in  some  measure  be  guilty 
of  when  he  too  familiarly  mixes  divine  agency  with  human  events. 
Nor  does  it  appear  more  favourable  to  the  greatness  of  the  human 
personages,  that  they  are  on  all  occasions  so  beholden  to  the  im- 
mediate interposition  of  divine  allies.  The  refined  and  judicious 
Virgil,  though  he  has  tolerably  kept  up  the  dignity  of  his  Deities, 
has  yet  very  much  lowered  his  heroes  from  this  cause.  When 
we  see  .(Eneas,  the  son  of  a  Goddess,  aided  by  a  God,  and  covered 
with  celestial  armour,  with  difficulty  vanquishing  the  gallant 
Turnus,  we  conclude  that  without  such  odds  the  victory  must 
have  fallen  on  the  other  side.  Under  such  a  system  of  super- 
natural agency,  there  was  no  other  way  of  exalting  a  man  than 
making  him,  like  Diomed,  war  against  the  Gods,  or  like  Cato, 
approve  a  cause  which  they  had  unjustly  condemned.  Surely  a 
"  sober  intermixture  of  religion"  can  never  be  attributed  to  the 
ancient  epic.  The  poem  of  Gondibert  is,  indeed,  without  all  this 
mixture  of  religious  machinery,  whether  it  be  termed  sober  or 
extravagant.  Human  means  are  brought  to  accomplish  human 
ends  ;  and  Cowley,  in  his  recommendatory  lines  prefixed  to  the 
work,  has  thus  expressed  his  approbation  of  this  part  of  the  plan  : 


200  GONDIBERT, 

Mt thinks  heroick  po-sie  'ill  now 
Like  some  fantasiiqm  tinny-land  did  show  ; 
Gods,  Devils.  Nyrnphs,  Witches,  and  Giants'  raer. 
And  all  but  Man   in  man's  best  work  had  place. 
Thou,  like  some  worih\  Knight,  with  sacred  arras 
Dost  drive  the  Monster's  thence,  and  end  the  charms: 
Instead  of  these  dost  Men  and  Manners  plant, 
The  things  which  that  rich  soil  did  chiefly  want. 

We  shall  see  hereafter  that  the  author  has  not  neglected  to  in- 
troduce religious  sentiment,  and  that  of  a  more  noble  and  eleva- 
ted kind  than  can  easily  be  paralleled  in  poetry. 

But  as  the  poet,  in  the  critic's  opinion,  did  too  much  in  ban- 
ishing every  thing  supernatural  in  the  events,  so  he  did  too  lit- 
tle in  retaining  the  fantastic  notions  of  love  and  honour  in  the 
characters  of  his  piece,  which  were  derived  from  the  same  source 
of  fiction  and  romance.  There  is,  however,  an  essential  differ- 
ence between  the  cases.  Artificial  sentiments,  however  unnatu- 
ral at  first,  may,  from  the  operation  of  particular  causes,  become 
so  familiar  as  to  be  adopted  into  the  manners  of  the  age.  In- 
stances of  fashion  in  sentiment  are  almost  as  frequent  as  of  fash- 
ion in  dress.  It  is  certain  that  the  romantic  ideas  of  love  and 
honour  did  in  fact  prevail  in  a  high  degree  during  a  considera- 
ble period  of  the  later  ages,  owing  to  causes  which  the  same  in- 
genious critic  has,  in  a  very  curious  manner,  investigated  in  his 
Letters  on  Chivalry  and  Romance.  They  gave  the  leading  tone 
to  all  polished  manners;  and  gallantry  was  as  serious  a  principle 
in  the  Italian  courts,  as  love  to  their  country  in  the  states  of 
Greece  or  old  Rome.  Supernatural  agency  in  human  events,  on 
the  other  hand,  however  commonly  pretended,  or  firmly  believ- 
ed, would  never  approach  one  step  nearer  to  reality.  After  all, 
the  author  of  Gondibert  could  not  intend  to  reduce  his  poem  to 
mere  history  ;  but  he  chose  to  take  a  poetical  license  in  the  dig- 
nity and  elevation  of  his  sentiments,  rather  than  in  the  marvel- 
ousness  of  its  events.  He  thought  he  might  attribute  to  the  ex- 
alted personages  of  courts  and  camps  the  same  nobleness  of 
mind  which  himself,  a  courtier  and  a  soldier,  possessed.  If  his 
work  be  allowed  less  grand  and  entertaining  from  the  want  of 
such  ornaments  as  those  of  his  predecessors  are  decorated  with* 
it  will  yet  be  difficult  to  show  how,  at  his  time,  they  could  have 
been  applied  consistently  with  good  sense  and  improved  taste. 

So  much  in  vindication  of  the  general  method  of  Sir  W. 
D'avenant's  poem.  With  respect  to  its  execution,  the  justice  of 


GONDIBERT.  201 

Dr.  Kurd's  censure  cannot  be  controverted.  That  his  sentiments 
are  frequently  far-fetched  and  affected,  and  his  expression  quaint 
and  obscure,  is  but  too  obviously  apparent ;  and  these  faults,  to- 
gether with  the  want  of  harmony  in  versification  will  sufficiently 
account  for  the  neglect  into  which  the  work  is  fallen,  though  in- 
teresting in  its  story,  and  thick  sown  with  beauties.  Readers 
who  take  up  a  book  merely  for  the  indolent  amusement  of  a  lei- 
sure hour,  cannot  endure  the  labour  of  unharbouring  a  fine 
thought  from  the  cover  of  perplexed  expression.  The  pleasure 
arising  from  a  flowing  line  or  a  rounded  period  is  more  engaging 
to  them,  because  more  easily  enjoyed,  than  that  from  a  sublime 
or  witty  conception.  The  author's  faulty  execution,  however* 
arose  from  a  source  directly  contrary  to  the  "dread  of  imitation.7' 
Imitation  itself  led  Mm  to  it ;  for  almost  all  the  models  of  polite 
literature  existing  in  his  own  country,  and  indeed  in  the  other 
polished  nations  of  Europe,  were  characterised  by  the  very  same 
vitiation  of  taste.  Among  our  own  writers  it  is  sufficient  to  in- 
stance Donne,  Suckling  and  Cowley  for  this  constant  affectation 
of  wit  and  uncommon  sentiment,  and  fora  consequent  obscurity 
of  expression.  Yet  all  these,  and  Sir  W.  D'avenant,  perhaps,  in 
a  more  eminent  degree  than  the  rest,  had  for  great  occasions, 
above  the  temptation  of  trifling,  a  majestic  and  nervous  simpli- 
city both  of  sentiment  and  expression;  which,  with  our  more  re- 
fined taste  and  language,  we  have  never  been  able  to  equal. 

I  should  now  hope  that  the  reader  would  set  out  with  me  upon 
a  nearer  inspection  of  this  poem,  with  the  general  idea  of  its 
being  the  work  of  an  elevated  genius,  pregnant  with  a  rich  store 
of  free  and  noble  sentiment,  fashioned  by  an  intimate  commerce 
with  the  great  world,  and  boldly  pursuing  an  original  but  not  an 
unskilful  plan. 

The  measure  chosen  for  this  poem  is  that  which  we  now  almost 
confine  to  elegy.  This  choice  does  not  appear  very  judicious  ; 
for  although  our  elegiac  stanza  possesses  a  strength  and  fulness 
which  renders  it  not  unsuitable  to  heroic  subjects,  yet  in  a  piece 
of  considerable  length,  every  returning  measure  must  become 
tiresome  from  its  frequent  repetitions.  And  this  is  not  the  worst 
effect  of  returning  stanzas,  in  a  long  work.  The  necessity  of 
comprising  a  sentence  within  the  limits  of  the  measure  is  the  ty- 
ranny of  Procrustes  to  thought.  For  the  sake  of  a  disagreeable 
uniformity,  expression  must  constantly  be  cramped  or  extenu- 
ated. In  general  the  latter  expedient  will  be  practised,  as  the 
Cc 


£02  GONDTBERT. 

easiest ;  and  thus  both  sentiment  and  language  will  be  enfeebled 
by  unmeaning  expletives.  This,  indeed,  in  some  measure  is  the 
effect  of  rhyme  couplets  ;  and  still  more  of  the  Latin  hexameter 
and  pentameter.  In  our  author,  a  redundancy  of  thought,  run- 
ning out  into  parentheses,  seems  to  have  been  produced,  or  at 
least  encouraged,  by  the  measure.  But  I  think  he  has  generally 
preserved  a  force  and  majesty  of  expression. 

It  would  have  been  highly  injudicious  for  one  who  has  reject- 
ed all  poetical  machinery,  to  have  begun  his  poem  with  the  an- 
cient form  of  invoking  a  Muse.  Indeed,  in  all  modern  writers 
this  invocation  appears  little  better  than  an  unmeaning  ceremo- 
ny, practised  by  rote  from  ancient  custom ;  and  very  properly 
makes  a  part  of  the  receipt  for  an  epic  poem  humourously  laid 
down  after  the  exact  model  of  mechanical  imitation,  in  the  Spec- 
tator. Our  author,  with  simple  and  unaffected  dignity,  thus 
opens  at  once  into  his  subject : 

Of  «H  the.  Lombard's,  by  their  trophies  known, 
Who  sought  tame  soon,  and  had  her  favour  long, 

King  Aribert  best  seem'd  to  fill  the  throne, 
And  bred  most  business  for  heroic  song. 

This  conquering  monarch,  we  are  soon  acquainted,  was  blest 
with  an  only  child,  the  heroine  of  the  story, 

Recorded  Rhodalind  !  whose  high  renown 

Wh»i  miss  in  books  not  luckily  have  read  ; 
Or  v«-x'd  with  living  beauties  of  their  own 

Have  shunn'd  the  wist  records  of  lovers  dead. 

Descriptions  of  female  beauty  have  engaged  the  powers  of 
poets  in  every  age,  who  have  exhausted  all  nature  for  imagery  to 
heighten  their  painting;  yet  the  picture  has  ever  been  extremely 
faint  and  inadequate.  Our  poet  judiciously  confines  his  descrip- 
tion of  Rhodalind  to  the  qualities  of  her  mind,  contenting  him- 
self with  general  praises,  though  in  the  high-flown  gallantry  of 
the  times,  of  her  personal  charms. 

Her  looks  like  empire  shew'd,  great  above  pride  ; 

Since  pride  ill  counterfeits  excessive  height  : 
But  i  attire  publish 'd  what  she  fain  would  hide, 

Who  for  her  deeds,  not  beauty,  lov'd  the  light. 

To  make  her  lowly  mind's  appearance  less, 
SheusM  some  outward  greatness  for  disguise  : 


GONDIBERT.  203 

Esteem  *d  as  pride  tlu-  cloyst'ral  lowliness, 
And  thought  them  proud  who, even  the  proud  despise. 


Oppressors  big  with  pride,  when  she  appear'd 

Blush  ;d,  and  believ'd  their  greatness  counterfeit  ; 

The  Ir.wlv  thought  they  them  in  vain  had  tVar'd ; 
Found  virtue  harmless,  and  nought  else  so  great. 

Her  mind  (scarce  to  h>  r  feeble  sex  a-kin) 

Did  as  her  birth,  her  right  to  empire  show  ; 
Seeiu'd  careless  outward  when  emplov'd  within; 

Ht  r  speech,  like  lovers  watch'd,  was  kind  and  low. 

The  court  of  Aribert  could  not  want  men  of  high  rank  and 
accomplishments  to  pay  their  devotions  at  such  a  shrine. 
Amongst  these,  "Oswald  the  Great  and  greater  Gondibert"  mov- 
ed in  the  most  exalted  sphere  of  renown.  These  noble  person- 
ages are  characterised  and  contrasted  with  so  masterly  a  hand 
that  it  would  be  an  injury  not  to  transcribe  the  whole. 

In  court  Prince  Oswald  costly  was  and  gay, 

Finer  than  near  vain  kings  their  favorites  are; 
Outshin'd  bright  fav'rites  on  th-jir  nuptial  day; 

Yet  were  his  eyes  dark  with  ambitious  care. 

Duke  Gondibert  was  still  more  gravely  clad, 

But  yet  his  looks  familiar  were  and  clear; 
As  if  with  ill  to  others  never  sad, 

Nor  tow'rds  himself  could  others  practise  fear. 

The  Prince  could  porpoise  like  in  tempests  play, 
And  in  court  storms  on  shipwreck'd  greatness  feed  ; 

Not  frighted  with  their  fate  when  cast  away, 
But  to  their  glorious  hazards  durst  succeed. 

The  Duke  would  lasting  calms  to  courts  assure, 

As  pleasant  gardens  we  defend  from  winds; 
For  he  who  bus'ness  would  from  storms  procure, 

Soon  his  affairs  above  his  manage  finds. 

Oswald  in  throngs  the  abject  people  sought 

With  humble  looks  ;  who  still  too  late  will  know 

They  are  ambition's  quarry,  and  soon  caught 
When  the  aspi.  ing  eagle  stoops  so  low. 

The  Duke  did  these  by  steady  virtue  gain; 

Which  they  in  action  more  than  precept  taste; 
Deeds  shew  th<  good,  ami  ibos«*  who  goodness  feign 

By  such  even  though  their  vizards  are  outfec'i. 


204  GONDIBERT. 

Oswald  in  war  was  worthily  renown'd; 

Though  gay  in  courts;  coarsely  in  camps  could  live  ; 
Judg'd  danger  soon,  and  first  was  in  it  found  : 

Could  toil  to  gain  what  he  with  ease  did  give. 

Yet  toils  and  dangers  through  ambition  lov'd, 

Which  does  in  war  the  name  of  virtue  own  : 
But  quits  that  name  when  from  the  war  remov'd.    v 

As  rivers  theirs  when  from  their  channels  gone. 

The  Duke  (as  restless  as  his  fame  in  war) 

With  martial  toil  could  Oswald  weary  make, 
And  calmly  do  what  he  with  rage  did  dare, 
And  give  so  much  as  he  might  deign  to  take. 

Him  as  their  founder  cities  did  adore ; 

The  court  he  knew  to  steer  in  storms  of  state  ; 
In  fields  a  battle  lost  he  could  restore, 

And  after  force  the  victors  to  their  fate. 

Of  these  great  rivals,  Gondibert  was  he  whom  the  king  had 
destined  for  his  son-in-law,  and  the  heir  of  his  throne;  and  Rho- 
dalind,  too,  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  breast,  had  made  the  same 
choice.  This  is  related  in  a  manner  little  inferior  to  Shake- 
speare's famous  description  of  concealed  love. 

Yet  sadly  it  is  sung  that  she  in  shades 

Mildly  as  mourning  doves  love's  sorrows  felt ; 
Whilst  in  her  secret  tears  her  freshness  fades, 

As  roses  silently  in  lymbecks  melt. 

Gondibert,  however,  though  of  a  nature  by  no  means  unsus- 
ceptible of  the  tender  passion,  had  not  as  yet  felt  it  for  a  parti- 
cular object;  and  Oswald,  who  stood  forth  as  the  public  suitor 
to  the  princess,  was  incited  by  no  other  motive  than  ambition 
Not  Rhodalind  herself  (says  the  Poet) 

Could  he  affect  but  shining  in  her  throne. 

His  cause  was  powerfully  pleaded  with  the  princess  by  his 
sister  Gartha,  with  whom  we  are  next  brought  acquainted.  A 
bold,  full,  majestic  beauty  ;  and  a  corresponding  mind,  high, 
restless,  and  aspiring,  are  her  distinguishing  features.  The 
Prince  and  Duke  were  urged  on  to  ambitious  pursuits  by  their 
respective  armies,  which,  just  returned  from  conquest,  lay  en- 
camped, the  one  at  Brescia,  and  the  other  at  Bergamo.  That  of 
Gondibert  was  composed  of  hardy  youth  whom  he  had  selected 
from  his  father's  camp,  and  educated  in  martial  discipline  under 


GONDIBERT.  205 

his  own  inspection.  Temperance,  chastity,  vigilance,  humanity, 
and  all  the  high  virtues  of  chivalry,  remarkably  distinguish  these 
young  soldiers  from  those  of  later  times.  Beauty,  indeed,  com- 
manded no  less  regard  amongst  them  than  in  a  modern  camp ; 
but  it  was  an  object  of  passion,  and  not  of  appetite  ;  and  was  the 
powerful  engine  in  their  education  which  inspired  them  with  no- 
ble and  exalted  sentiments.  This  is  an  idea  on  which  our  author, 
true  to  the  principles  of  chivalry,  very  frequently  enlarges,  and 
always  with  peculiar  force  and  dignity.  In  the  present  instance 
it  is  thus  finely  expressed  : 

But  though  the  Duke  taught  rigid  discipline, 

lie  let  them  beauty  thus  at  distance  know  ; 
As  priests  discover  some  more  sacred  shrine, 

Which  none  must  touch,  yet  all  to  it  may  bow. 

When  thus  as  suitors  mourning  virgins  pass 

Through  their  clean  camp,  themselves  in  form  they  draw, 

That  they  with  martial  reverence  may  grace 
Beauty,  the.  stranger,  which  they  seldom  saw. 

They  vayl'd  their  ensigns  as  it  by  did  move, 

Whilst  inward,  as  from  native  conscience,  all 
Worship'd  the  poet's  darling  god-head,  Love  ; 

Which  grave  philosophers  did  Nature  call. 

Indeed,  the  influence  of  this  passion  in  its  purest  and  most 
exalted  state,  during  the  course  of  education,  is  a  subject  that 
might,  perhaps,  shine  as  much  in  the  hands  of  a  moralist  as  of  a 
poet. 

The  soldiers  of  Oswald  were  his  father's  brave  veterans,  in 
whose  arms  he  had  been  bred.  The  story  thus  opened,  and  out- 
attention  awakened  to  the  expectation  of  important  events,  the 
first  canto  is  closed. 

The  second  canto  introduces  us  to  a  solemn  annual  hunting, 
held  by  Duke  Gondibert  in  commemoration  of  a  great  victory 
gained  on  this  day  by  his  grandsire.  His  train  was  adorned  by 
many  gallant  and  noble  persons,  the  friends  of  his  family,  and 
commanders  in  his  army.  The  hunting,  which  is  described  with 
much  poetical  spirit,  terminates  in  a  combat  As  Gondibert  and 
his  party  are  returning  weary  homeward,  an  ancient  ranger  hasti- 
ly brings  the  tidings  that  Oswald,  who  had  lain  in  ambush  with 
a  body  of  chosen  horse,  is  advancing  upon  them.  The  Duke,  re- 
jecting all  counsels  of  flight,  prepares  to  receive  his  foes ;  and 


206  GONDTBERT. 

with  an  account  of  their  principal  leaders,  and  the  order  oi  their 
march,  the  canto  concludes. 

A  parley  between  the  chiefs  now  succeeds,  in  which  the  cha- 
racter of  each  is  well  preserved.  Oswald  warmly  accuses  his 
rival  for  usurping  his  claims  on  the  princes*  and  the  kingdom. 
Gondibert  defends  himself  with  temper,  and  disavows  all  ambi- 
tious designs.  The  other  disdains  accommodation  ;  and  the  con- 
ference ends  in  a  generous  agreement  to  decide  their  differences 
in  single  fight. 

When  every  thing  is  prepared  for  the  combat,  Hubert,  the 
brother  of  Oswald,  steps  forth  with  a  general  challenge  to  the 
opposite  party.  This  is  instantly  accepted,  and  serves  for  a  pre- 
lude to  so  many  others,  that  a  general  engagement  seems  likely 
to  ensue  ;  when  Oswald  reproves  their  disobedient  ardour  :  and, 
upon  Hubert's  insisting  to  share  his  fate  from  the  rights  of  bro- 
therhood, it  is  at  length  decided  that  three  persons  of  each  party 
should  enter  the  lists  along  with  their  generals.  The  duel  then 
comes  on,  in  the  fourth  canto  ;  in  which  Oswald,  Hubert,  Para- 
dine  and  Dargonet,  are  severally  matched  with  Gondibert;  Hur- 
gonil,  the  lover  of  Orna,  the  Duke's  sister ;  and  Arnold  and  Hugo, 
generous  rivals  in  Laura.  Descriptions  of  battle  are  so  frequent 
in  epic  poetry  that  scarcely  any  circumstances  of  variety  are  left 
to  diversify  them.  Homer  and  his  imitators  have  attempted 
novelty  in  the  multiplicity  of  their  combats  by  every  possible 
variation  of  weapon,  posture,  and  wound.  They  considered  the 
human  body  with  anatomical  nicety;  and  dwelt  with  a  savage 
pleasure  upon  every  idea  of  pain  and  horror  that  studied  but- 
chery could  excite.  I  shall  leave  it  to  the  professed  admirers 
of  antiquity  to  determine  under  what  head  of  poetical  beauty 
such  objects  are  to  be  ranged.  The  terrible  is  certainly  a  prin- 
cipal source  of  the  sublime ;  but  a  slaughter-house  or  a  surgery 
would  not  seem  proper  studies  for  a  poet.  D'avenanthas  drawn 
little  from  them.  His  battles  are  rendered  interesting  chiefly  by 
the  character  and  situation  of  the  combatants.  When  Arnold, 
the  favoured  lover  of  Laura,  is  slain  by  Paradine,  Hugo,  who 
had  over-thrown  his  antagonist,  springs  to  avenge  his  rival,  with 
these  truly  gallant  expressions : 

Vain  conqueror,  said  Hugolhen,  return! 

Instead  of l»urrl  which  the  victor  wears 
Co  gather  cypress  for  thy  brother's  u'-n, 

And  learn  of  me  to  water  it  with  tears. 


GOND1BERT.  207 

Thy  brother  ^st  liis  life  attempting  mine  ; 

Which  cannot  for  Lord  Arnold's  loss  suffice  ; 
I  must  revenue,  unlucky  Paradine! 

The  blood  his  death  will  draw  from  Laura's  eyes. 

We  rivals  were  in  Laura  ;  but  though  she 

My  griefs  derided,  his  with  sighs  approv'd, 
Yet  I,  in  love's  exact  integrity, 

Must  take  thy  life  for  killing  him  she  lov'd. 

His  generosity,  however,  was  fatal  both  to  his  foe  and  himself. 

Hubert,  disabled  by  a  wound  in  his  arm,  is  dishonoured  by  re- 
ceiving his  life  from  his  conqueror ;  upon  which  occasion  the 
poet  thus  beautifully  apostrophisis  : 

O  Honour,  frail  as  life  thy  fellow  flower  ! 

Cherish 'd  and  wateh'd  and  hum'rously  esteem'd, 
Then  worn  for  short  adornments  of  an  hour; 

And  is,  when  lost,  no  more  than  life  redeem'd. 

The  two  chiefs  are  still  left  closely  engaging ;  and  when  Hur- 
gonil  approaches  to  assist  his  lord,  he  is  warmly  commanded  to 
retire.  At  length,  after  many  mutual  wounds,  Oswald  falls. 

The  death  of  the  Prince  at  the  same  time  takes  off  all  restraint 
from  his  party,  and  incites  them  to  revenge.  Led  by  the  wound- 
ed Hubert,  old  Vasco,  and  Borgio,  they  attack  the  hunters,  who, 
besides  the  fatigue  of  the  chase,  are  represented  as  somewhat  in- 
ferior in  number.  A  furious  battle,  the  subject  of  the  fifth  canto, 
now  ensues,  Gondibert  shines  forth  in  all  the  splendour  of  a  hero. 
By  his  prowess  his  friends  are  rescued,  and  the  opposite  leaders 
overthrown  in  various  separate  encounters  ;  and  by  his  military 
skill  the  brave  veterans  of  Oswald  are  defeated.  The  whole  de- 
scription of  the  battle  is  warm  and  animated. 

In  Gondibert's  generous  lamentation  over  the  fallen,  every 
heart  must  sympathise  with  the  following  pathetic  tribute  to  the 
rival  lovers : 

Brave  Arnold  and  his  rival  strait  remove, 

Where  Laura  shall  bestrew  their  hallo w'd  ground  ; 

Protectors  both,  and  ornaments  of  love  ; 

This  said,  his  eyes  out-wi-pt  his  widest  wound. 

Tell  h^r  now  these,  love's  faithful  saints,  are  gone 

Tlv  beaqtv  the*  ador'd  she  ought  to  hide  ; 
For  vainly  will  io\e's  miracles  be  shown, 

Since  lover's  faith  with  these  brave  rivals  dy'd, 


5208  GONDIBERT. 

Say  little  Hugo  never  more  shall  mourn 

In  n^bk  numbers,  her  unkind  disdain  ; 
"Who  now,  not  seeing  beauty,  feels  no  scorn  ; 

And  wanting  pleasure,  is  exempt  from  pain. 

When  she  with  flowers  Lord  Arnold's  grave  shall  strew, 

And  hears  why  Hugo's  life  was  thrown  away, 
She  on  that  rival's  hearse  will  drop  a  few, 

Which  merits  all  that  April  gives  to  Mny. 

The  Duke  now  draws  off  his  remaining  friends  towards  Bei 
gamo  :  but,  on  the  journey,  overcome  by  fatigue  and  loss  of  blood, 
he  falls  into  a  deadly  swoon.  His  attendants,  amidst  their  anx- 
iety and  confusion  upon  this  event,  are  surprised,  in  the  sixth 
canto,  with  the  approach  of  a  squadron  of  horse.  This,  however, 
proves  to  be  a  friendly  body,  led  by  old  Ulfin,  who,  after  reco- 
vering the  Duke  by  a  cordial,  declares  himself  to  have  been  a 
page  to  his  grandsire,  and  gives  a  noble  relation  of  the  character 
and  exploits  of  his  great  master.  The  rumour  of  Oswald's  attack 
brought  him  to  the  relief  of  Gondibert;  and  we  have  a  descrip- 
tion, which  will  be  thought  too  much  bordering  upon  the  ludi- 
crous, of  the  strange  confusion  among  his  maimed  veterans,  who 
in  their  haste  had  seized  upon  each  other's  artificial  limbs.  This 
unsightly  troop,  with  the  deficiencies  of  hands,  arms,  legs,  and 
eyes,  can  scarcely,  with  all  the  poet's  art,  be  rendered  a  respec- 
table object.  Such  instances  of  faulty  judgment  are  frequent  in 
the  writings  of  an  age  which  was  characterised  by  vigour  of  ima- 
gination rather  than  correctness  of  taste.  Ulfin  leads  the  Duke 
to  the  house  of  the  sage  Astragon,  where,  with  the  approach  ot 
night,  the  canto  and  the  first  book  conclude. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  second  book,  the  poet  carries  us  with 
llurgontl  and  Tybalt  and  their  noble  dead,  to  Verona.  The  dis- 
tant turrets  first  appearing,  and  then  the  great  objects  opening, 
one  by  one  ;  the  river,  the  palace,  the  temple,  and  the  amphithe- 
atre of  Flaminius,  form  a  landscape  truly  noble  and  picturesque. 
The  view  of  the  temple  gives  occasion  to  one  of  those  elevated 
religious  sentiments  which  dignify  this  poem  : 

This  to  soothe  heaven  the  bloody  Clephes  built ; 

As  it'  heaven's  king  so  soft  and  easy  were, 
So  meanly  hous'd  in  heaven,  and  kind  to  guilt, 

That  he  would  be  a  ty  rant's  tenant  he  if. 

We  have  then  a  lively  description  of  a  city  morning;  with  the 


GONDIBERT.  209 

various  and  uncertain  rumours  of  the  late  event,  among  the  people. 
The  rest  of  the  canto  is  employed  in  a  debate,  rather  tedious, 
though  intermixed  with  fine  sentiments,  concerning  the  propri- 
ety of  granting  funeral  rites  to  those  who  had  perished  in  the 
quarrel. 

The  progress  of  the  fatal  news  is  traced  in  the  next  canto. 
Aribert  appears  sitting  in  council  in  all  the  regal  dignity.  Tybalt 
relates  the  story.  The  king,  in  a  majestic  speech,  complains  of 
the  toils  and  cares  of  empire,  and  predicts  the  baneful  conse- 
quences likely  to  ensue.  A  more  interesting  scene  is  then  dis- 
closed, in  which  Tybalt  declares  the  melancholy  events  of  the 
combat  to  Rhodalind  and  the  other  ladies  of  the  court.  Great 
art  is  shown  in  the  delicate  ambiguity  by  which  they  are  prepar- 
ed to  receive  the  tidings.  Laura  is  overpowered  by  her  loss  ; 
and  calling  on  Arnold's  name,  is  conveyed  away  by  her  female 
attendants.  This  tender  scene  of  sorrow  is  finely  contrasted  by 
the  abrupt  entrance  of  Gartha,  in  all  the  wild  pomp  of  mingled 
rage  and  grief. 

No  sooner  was  the  pity'd  Laura  gone, 

But  Oswald's  sister,  Gartha  the  renown'd, 
Enters  as  if  the  world  was  overthrown, 

Or  in  the  tears  of  the  afflicted  dtown'd. 

Unconquer'd  as  her  beauty  was  her  mind, 

Which  wanted  not  a  spark  of  Oswald's  fire  ; 
Ambition  lov'd  but  ne'er  to  love  was  kind  ; 

Vex'd  thrones  did  more  than  quiet  shades  desire. 

Her  garments  now  in  loose  neglect  she  wore, 
As  suited  to  her  wild  dishevell'd  hair. 

In  the  fury  of  her  passion  she  breaks  out  into  execrations 
against  the  innocent. 

Blasted  be  all  your  beauties,  Rhodalind  ! 

Till  you  a  shame  and  terror  be  to  sight  ; 
Unwing'd  be  Love,  and  slow  as  he  is  blind, 

Who  with  your  looks  poison 'd  my  brother's  sight! 

At  length  she  mounts  her  chariot,  and  flies  with  the  wings  of 
revenge  to  the  veteran  camp  at  Brescia.  The  terror  impressed 
on  the  people  by  her  hasty  departure  is  imaged  with  great  sub- 
limity. 

She  seem'd  their  city's  Genius  as  she  pass'd, 

Who,  by  their  sins  expeli'd,  would  ne'er  return. 
D  d 


210  GONDIBERT. 

The  third  canto  brings  us  to  Brescia,  where  Hubert's  arrival 
with  the  dead  body  of  Oswald  excites  every  emotion  of  surprise* 
grief  and  fury  in  the  breasts  of  the  brave  veterans.  They  spend 
the  night  in  this  storm  of  contending  passions  ;  and  at  day  break 
assemble  round  the  tent  of  Hubert,  who  by  a  noble  harangue  gives 
additional  fire  to  their  revenge.  They  instantly  arm,  and  de- 
mand to  be  led  to  Bergamo ;  when  Gartha  arrives.  She  turns 
their  vengeance  against  the  court,  where  she  represents  the  tri- 
umph of  Gondibert's  faction,  and  the  dishonour  cast  upon  their 
own.  The  rage  discovered  in  her  countenance,  overpowering  the 
symptoms  of  grief,  is  painted  with  amazing  grandeur  in  the  fol- 
lowing simile : 

The  Sun  did  thus  to  threat'ned  nature  show 

His  anger  red,  whilst  guilt  look'd  pale  in  all, 
When  clouds  of  floods  did  hang  about  his  brow  ; 

And  then  shrunk  back  to  let  that  anger  tall. 

This  tempest  is,  however,  allayed  in  the  next  canto  by  the  ar- 
rival of  the  wise  Hermegild  ;  who,  though  grown  aged  in  war  and 
politics,  is  possessed  with  a  youthful  passion  for  Gartha.  He 
solemnly  binds  his  services  to  their  party,  for  the  reward  of 
Gartha's  love  ;  but  persuades  them  to  submit  to  more  cautious 
and  pacific  measures.  Gartha  returns  with  him  to  the  court; 
and  the  funeral  of  Oswald  with  Roman  rites,  "  Which  yet  the 
world's  last  law  had  not  forbid,"  is  described  in  the  remaining 
part  of  the  canto. 

From  scenes  of  rage  and  tumult  the  poet  then  leads  us  to  ihe 
quiet  shades  of  philosophy  in  the  house  of  Astragon.  This  change 
is  not  better  calculated  for  the  reader's  relief,  than  for  a  display 
of  the  richness  and  elevation  of  the  writer's  rnind.  That  the 
friend  of  Hobbes  should  despise  the  learned  lumber  of  the  schools 
will  not  be  thought  extraordinary ;  but  that  he  should  distinctly 
mark  out  such  plans  of  acquiring  knowledge  as  have  since  been 
pursued  with  the  greatest  success,  may  well  be  deemed  a  re- 
markable proof  of  high  and  comprehensive  genius.  In  Astra- 
gon's  domain  is  a  retired  building,  upon  which  is  written  in 
large  letters,  GREAT  NATURE'S  OFFICE.  Here  sit  certain  vener- 
able sages,  stiled  Nature's  Registers,  busied  in  recording  what  is 
brought  them  by  a  throng  called  their  Intelligencers.  These  men 
are  diversly  employed  in  exploring  the  haunts  of  beasts,  of  birds 
and  of  fishes,  and  collecting  observations  of  their  manners,  their 


GONDIBERT.  211 

prey,  their  increase,  and  every  circumstance  of  their  ceconomy. 
Near  this  place  is  NATURE'S  NURSERY,  stocked  with  every  species 
of  plants,  of  which  the  several  properties  and  virtues  are  dili- 
gently examined.  Is  it  not  striking  to  find  in  the  house  of  Jls- 
tragon  so  exact  a  model  of  the  school  of  Linnaeus  ? 

We  are  next  led  to  the  CABINET  OF  DEATH  ;  a  receptacle  for 
skeletons  and  anatomical  curiosities  of  every  kind :  and  from 
thence,  by  a  pleasing  analogy,  to  the  library,  or,  as  it  is  termed, 

the  MONUMENT  OF  BANISH9D  MINDS.       The    feelings  of   his  gUCStS 

on  entering  this  room  are  thus  described  : 

Where,  when  they  thought  they  saw  in  well  sought  books 

TV  assembled  souls  of  all  that  men  held  wise, 
It  bred  such  awful  rev'renee  in  their  looks 

As  if  they  saw  the  bury'd  writers  rise. 

The  poet  then  goes  through  a  particular  survey  of  the  authors, 
distinguished  into  their  several  periods,  countries,  and  profes- 
sions ;  in  which  he  exhibits  a  great  extent  of  learning,  and,  much 
more  to  his  honour,  a  sound  and  liberal  judgment  of  what  is  truly 
valuable  in  learning.  Of  this,  his  account  of  the  polemic  divines 
will  be  thought  no  unfavourable  specimen. 

About  this  sacred  little  book  did  stand 

Unwieldly  volumes^  and  in  number  great; 
And  long  it  was  since  any  reader's  hand 

Had  reach'd  them  from  their  unfrequented  seat. 

Fora  deep  dust  (which  time  does  softly  shed, 
Where  only  time  does  come)  their  covers  bear; 

On  which  grave  spiders  streets  of  weds  had  spread, 
Subtle,  and  slight,  as  the  grave  writers  were. 

In  these  heaven's  holy  fire  does  vainly  burn, 
Nor  warms,  nor  lights,  but  is  in  sparkles  spent: 

Where  fro  ward  authors  with  disputes  have  torn 
The  garment  seamless  as  the  firmament. 

If  the  subjects  of  this  canto  appear  more  noble  and  elevated 
than  those  which  usually  employ  the  episodes  of  heroic  poetry, 
that  of  the  ensuing  one  must  strike  with  still  superior  dignity. 
Having  acquainted  us  with  the  philosophy  of  his  admired  sage, 
the  poet  now,  by  a  beautiful  kind  of  allegory,  instructs  us  in  his 
religion.  Astragon  had  dedicated  three  temples,  to  PRAYER,  to 
PENITENCE,  and  to  PRAISE.  The  Temple  of  Pray e\  is  described 
as  a  building  quite  plain,  open,  and  without  bells ;  since  nothing 


GONDIBERT. 

should  tempt  or  summon  to  an  office  to  which  our  own  wants  in- 
vite us.  The  duty  of  Penitence  being  a  severity  unpleasing  to 
nature,  its  temple  is  contrived,  by  its  solemn  and  uncommon  ap- 
pearance, to  catch  the  sense.  It  is  a  vast  building  of  black  mar- 
ble, hung  with  black,  and  furnished  with  that  "  dim  religious 
light"  which  poets  have  so  finely  employed  to  excite  kindred 
ideas  of  gloom  and  melancholy:  but  none,  I  think,  have  painted 
it  with  such  strength  of  colouring  as  our  author  : 

Black  curtains  hide  the  glass :  whilst  from  on  high 

A  winking  lamp  still  threatens  all  the  room, 
As  if  the  lazy  flame  just  now  wnuld  die  : 

Such  will  the  sun's  last  light  appear  at  doom. 

A  tolling  bell  calls  to  the  temple ;  and  every  other  circum- 
stance belonging  to  it  is  imagined  with  great  propriety  and  beauty. 

But  the  poet's  greatest  exertions  are  reserved  for  his  favourite 
temple  of  Praise.  A  general  shout  of  joy  is  the  summons  to  it. 
The  building  in  its  materials  and  architecture  is  gay  and  splen- 
did beyond  the  most  sumptuous  palace.  The  front  is  adorned 
with  figures  of  all  kinds  of  musical  instruments  ;  all,  as  he  most 
beautifully  expresses  it, 

That  joy  did  e'er  invent,  or  breath  inspir'd, 
Or  flying  fingers  touch'd  into  a  voice. 

The  statues  without,  the  pictures  within,  the  decorations,  and  the 
choir  of  worshippers,  are  all  suited  with  nice  judgment,  and  de- 
scribed with  genuine  poetry.  This  distinguished  canto  concludes 
with  these  noble  stanzas,  the  sum  and  moral,  as  it  were,  of  the 
whole. 

Praise  is  devotion  fit  for  mighty  minds  ; 

The  diff 'ring  world's  agreeing  sacrifice  ; 
Where  heaven  divided  faiths  united  finds: 

But  Prayer  in  various  discord  upwards  flies. 

For  Prayer  the  ocean  is,  where  diversely 

Men  steer  their  course,  each  to  a  scv'ral  coast; 
Where  all  our  interests  so  discordant  be 

That  half  beg  winds  by  which  the  rest  are  lost. 

By  Penitence  when  we  ourselves  forsake, 

Tis  but  in  wise  design  on  piteous  heav'n  ; 
In  Praise  we  nobly  give  wh;jt  God  may  take, 

And  are  without  a  beggar's  blush  forgiv'n. 


GONDTBERT.  213 

Its  utmost  force,  like  powder's,  is  unknown  ; 

And  tho'  weak  kings  excess  of  Praise  may  fear, 
"Yet  when  'tis  here,  like  powder,  dangerous  grown, 

Heav'n's  vault  receives  what  would  the  palace  tear. 

The  last  thought  will  be  termed,  in  this  cold  age,  a  conceit ;  and 
so  may  every  thing  that  distinguishes  wit  and  poetry  from  plain 
sense  and  prose. 

The  wonders  of  the  House  of  Astragon  are  not  yet  exhausted. 

To  Astragon  heaven  for  succession  gave 
One  only  pledge,  and  BIUTHA  was  her  name. 

This  maid,  her  father's  humble  disciple  and  assistant,  educated 
in  the  bosom  of  rural  simplicity,  is  rendered  a  more  charming 
object  than  even  the  renowned  Rhodalind  upon  her  throne. 

Courts  she  ne'er  saw,  yet  courts  could  have  undone 

With  untaught  looks  and  an  unpractis'd  heart; 
Her  nets  the  most  prepar'd  could  never  shun, 

For  Nature  spread  them  in  the  scorn  of  Art. 

But  I  check  my  desire  of  copying  more  from  this  exquisitely 
pleasing  picture.  My  intention  is  to  excite  curiosity,  not  to  gra- 
tify it.  I  hope  I  have  already  done  enough  for  that  purpose  ;  and 
since  the  rest  of  this  unfinished  story  may  be  comprised  in  a 
short  compass,  I  shall  proceed,  with  but  few  interruptions,  to 
conclude  a  paper  already  swelled  to  an  unexpected  bulk. 

That  the  unpractised  Birtha  should  entertain  an  unresisted 
passion  for  the  noblest  of  his  sex;  and  that  Gondibert,  whose 
want  of  ambition  alone  had  secured  him  from  the  charms  of  Rho- 
dalind, should  bow  to  those  of  his  lovely  hostess  and  handmaid, 
will  be  thought  a  very  natural  turn  in  the  story;  upon  which, 
however,  the  reader  may  foresee  the  most  interesting  events  de- 
pending. The  progress  of  their  love,  though  scarcely  known  to 
themselves,  is  soon  discovered  by  the  sage  Astragon.  This  is 
expressed  by  the  poet  with  a  very  fine  turn  of  a  common  thought. 

When  all  these  symptoms  he  observed,  he  knows 

From  Alga  which  is  rooted  deep  in  seas, 
To  the  hi&h  Cedar  that  on  mountains  grows, 

No  sov'reign  herb  is  found  for  their  disease. 

The  remainder  of  this  poem,  consisting  of  a  third  book  written 
during  the  author's  imprisonment,  is  composed  of  several  detach- 
ed scenes,  in  which  the  main  plot  lies  ripening  for  future  action. 


214  GONDIBERT. 

Rivals  are  raised  in  Birtha.  Flattering  advances  from  the  court, 
and  more  open  declarations  of  love  from  Rhodalind,  are  in  vain 
employed  to  assail  the  constancy  of  Gondibert.  Various  conflicts 
of  passion  arise,  and  interesting  situations,  well  imagined,  and 
painted  in  lively  colours.  Much  is  given,  as  in  the  former  parts, 
to  the  introduction  of  elevated  sentiment ;  with  one  example  of 
which  I  shall  finish  my  quotations.  Several  well  born  youths  are 
placed  about  the  person  of  Gondibert  as  his  pages,  whose  edu- 
cation consists  of  the  following  great  lessons  from  their  lord : 

But  with  the  early  sun  he  rose,  and  taught 

These  youths  by  growing  Virtue  to  grow  great  ; 

Shew'd  greatness  is  without  it  blindly  sought, 
A  desperate  charge  which  ends  in  base  retreat. 

lie  taught  them  Shame,  the  sudden  sense  of  ill ; 

Shamt> ,  nature's  hasty  conscience,  which  forbids 
Weak  inclination  ere  it  grows  to  wilj, 

Or  stays  rash  will  before  it  grows  to  deeds. 

He  taught  them  Honour,  Virtue's  bashfulness; 

A  fort  so  yieklless  that  it  tears,  to  treat  ; 
Like  power  it  grows  to  nothing,  growing  less  ; 

Honour,  the  moral  conscience  of  the  great. 

He  taught  them  Kindness ;  souls  civilit 

In  which,  nor  courts,  nor  cities  have  a  par    ; 
For  theirs  is  fashion,  this  from  falsehood  free, 

Where  love  and  pleasure  know  no  lust  nor  art. 

And  Love  he  taught ;  the  soul's  stol'n  visit  made 

Tho'  froward  age  watch  hard,  find  law  forbid  ; 
I  ler  walks  no  spy  has  trac'd,  nor  mountain  staid  ; 

Her  friendship's  cause  is  as  the  loadstone  hid. 

lie  taught  them  love  of  Toil ;  Toil  which  does  keep 
Obstructions  from  the  mind,  and  quench  the  blood  ; 

Ease  but  belongs  to  us  like  sleep,  and  sleep, 
Like  opium,  is  our  med'cine,  not  our  food. 

The  plot  is  at  length  involved  in  so  many  intricate  and  appa- 
rently insurmountable  difficulties,  that  it  is  scarce  possible  to 
conceive  a  satisfactory  termination.  Perhaps  the  poet  was  sen- 
sible of  a  want  of  power  to  extricate  himself,  and  chose  thus  to 
submit  to  a  voluntary  bankruptcy  of  invention,  rather  than  ha- 
y.ard  his  reputation  by  going  further.  In  his  postscript,  indeed, 
he  excuses  himself  on  account  of  sickness  and  approaching  <Iis- 
solution.  However  disappointed  we  may  be  by  his  abrupt  de- 


GONDIBERT.  215 

parture  from  scenes  which  he  has  filled  with  confusion,  we  ought 
not  to  forget  the  pleasures  already  received  from  them.  "  If 
(says  he  to  his  reader,  with  more  than  the  spirit  of  a  dying  man) 
thou  art  one  of  those  who  has  been  warmed  with  poetic  fire,  I 
reverence  thee  as  my  judge.''  From  such  a  judicature,  this  NO- 
BLE FRAGMENT  would,  I  doubt  not,  acquire  for  him,  what  the  cri- 
tic laments  his  having  lost,  "the  possession  of  that  true  and  per- 
manent glory  of  which  his  large  soul  appears  to  have  been  full/'*. 


Discourse  on  Poetical  Imitation. 


CRITICAL  REMARKS 


ox 


THE  collection  of  Poems,  termed  DRYDEN'S  FABLES,  chiefly 
consists  of  a  miscellany  of  pieces,  partly  translations,  partly  pa 
raphrases  and  improvements  ;  the  former  from  Homer  and  Ovid, 
the  latter  from  Chaucer  and  Boccacio.  The  subjects  of  the  first 
are  too  well  known  to  readers  of  poetry  to  interest  by  their  no- 
velty :  they  make,  therefore,  no  part  of  our  present  consideration, 
which  is  confined  to  those  of  the  second  class.  The  latter,  in- 
deed, in  the  common  estimation,  exclusively  possess  the  claim 
of  being  regarded  as  the  Fables  or  Tales  of  the  admired  Author, 
under  which  name  no  one  understands  pieces  of  mere  classical 
translation.  Though  less  original  than  perhaps  is  commonly  sup- 
posed, the  freedom  with  which  the  writer  has  intermixed  his  own 
language  and  sentiments,  gives  them  all  the  air  of  originality, 
and  they  bear  the  decisive  stamp  of  his  genius. 

The  records  of  poetical  composition  afford  few  examples  of 
mental  exertion  so  remarkable  as  that  which  gave  birth  to  these 
pieces.  Dryden,  who  had  from  early  life  been  an  author  by  pro- 
fession, was  induced,  either  by  motives  of  interest,  or  by  the 
peculiar  turn  of  his  studies,  to  devote  his  poetical  powers  chiefly 
to  the  purposes  of  religious  or  political  party.  He  had  obtained 
great  celebrity  by  his  performances  of  this  kind ;  of  which  the 
principal  were  "  Absalom  and  Achitophel,"  a  disguised  satire 
referring  to  the  state  of  politics  in  the  court  of  Charles  II.;  and 
"  The  Hind  and  Panther,"  a  dialogue  in  the  form  of  a  fable,  ex- 
hibiting the  leading  arguments  employed  by  the  Romish  church 
against  those  who  separated  from  it.  To  that  church  he  had  be- 
come a  convert,  when  the  accession  of  James  II.  to  the  throne 
inspired  sanguine  expectations  of  the  recovery  of  its  ancient  pre- 
dominance in  the  kingdom. 


DRYDEN.  217 

The  revolution  entirely  overthrew  these  hopes,  and  at  the 
same  time  gave  an  ascendancy  to  those  popular  principles  of  go- 
vernment, of  which  Dryden,  during  the  two  preceding  reigns, 
had  been  the  virulent  oppugner.  It  was  not,  therefore,  to  be 
\vondered  at,  how  much  soever  it  might  be  lamented,  that  the 
deposed  laureat,  at  the  advanced  age  of  sixty-eight,  should  be 
obliged  to  seek  a  subsistence  from  the  exertion  of  his  talents 
and  industry.  Among  other  engagements  of  the  literary  kind, 
he  contracted  with  the  booksellers  for  a  volume  of  poems,  to 
consist  of  a  determinate  number  of  lines,  at  a  payment  propor- 
tioned to  that  number. 

Such  was  the  mercantile  transaction  that  produced  his  Fables, 
—a  set  of  compositions  in  which  his  genius  sports  at  ease,  freed 
from  the  shackles  of  a  political  or  polemical  task  ;  and  which 
aftbrds  every  species  of  poetical  excellence  that  could  be  derived 
from  long  experience,  joined  with  unabated  vigour.  The  man- 
ner in  which  he  speaks  of  his  mental  constitution  at  this  period, 
though  confident,  is  well  justified  by  the  accompanying  proofs 
of  his  ability.  "  I  think  myself  (says  he)  as  vigorous  as  ever  in 
the  faculties  of  my  soul,  excepting  only  my  memory,  which  is  not 
impaired  to  any  great  degree ;  and  if  I  lose  not  more  of  it,  I 
have  no  great  reason  to  complain.  What  judgment  I  had,  in- 
creases rather  than  diminishes ;  and  thoughts,  such  as  they  are, 
come  crowding  in  so  fast  upon  me,  that  my  only  difficulty  is  to 
choose  or  to  reject."  This  account  is  so  true,  that  perhaps  no 
other  example  is  to  be  met  with,  of  the  fruits  of  age  partaking  so 
much  of  the  character  of  youth.  The  full  tide  and  varied  flow 
of  the  verse,  the  copiousness  and  splendour  of  the  descriptions, 
the  vivacity  of  the  sentiments,  and  abundance  of  the  allusions, 
all  indicate  exuberance  of  fancy  and  unextinguishable  fire,  and 
instead  of  the  languor  of  an  ungrateful  task,  he  exhibits  the  ani- 
mation of  one  who  practises  a  favourite  amusement  for  his  plea- 
sure. He  is  still  that  luxuriant  evergreen  which  his  own  beauti- 
ful lines  in  "  The  Flower  and  the  Leaf,"  so  aptly  characterise  : 

"  Ev'n  when  the  vital  sup  retreats  below, 
Ev'n  when  the  hoary  head  is  hid  in  snow, 
The  life  is  in  the  leaf,  and  still  between 
The  fits  of  falling  snows,  appears  the  streaky  green." 

Of  the  particular  pieces  in  this  volume,  the  author's  favourite 
is  evidently  the  heroic  poem  of  FALAMQN  AND  ARCITE,  imitated 
Ee 


218  D&YDEV 

from  Chaucer,  who,  though  not  the  inventor  of  the  storj. 
Dryden's  original.     He  has  not  scrupled  in  his  preface  to  pane 
gyrise  it  (Chaucer's  poem)  in  terms  which  will  scarcely  bear  to 
be  weighed  in  the  critical  balance.     Regarding  it  as  a  composi- 
tion of  the  epic  class,  he  compares  it  with  the  Iliad  and  jKneid. 
and  affirms  that  "  the  story  is  more  pleasing  than  [that  of]  either 
of  them,  the  manners  as  perfect,  the  diction  as  poetical,  the 
learning  as  deep  and  various,  and  the  disposition  full  as  artful." 

This  is  high  praise  from  one  who  knew  what  he  was  praising; 
but  the  critical  opinions  of  Dryden  are  rather  sentences  formed 
for  the  occasion,  than  the  well-weighed  maxims  of  a  consistent 
literary  code.  The  story  of  Palamon  and  Arcite  will,  at  best, 
bear  a  comparison  with  some  episode  in  a  legitimate  epic :  for  a 
love  adventure  will,  I  presume,  in  the  judgment  of  few  readers, 
stand  in  competition  with  the  destruction  of  one  potent  empire., 
or  the  foundation  of  another. 

In  what  sense  the  writer  meant  to  assert  the  perfection  of  its 
manners,  it  is  not  easy  to  divine.  Certainly,  in  the  obvious  one 
of  giving  a  just  representation  of  the  age,  country,  and  persons 
appertaining  to  the  fable,  nothing  can  be  further  from  truth  than 
this  assertion.  The  manners  in  the  Iliad  are  universally  allow- 
ed to  be  the  best  authority  we  possess  for  the  state  of  Greece  in 
the  early  stage  of  its  civilisation.  Those  of  the  ^Eneid  present 
a  picture  of  the  same  kind,  but,  as  framed  upon  imitation  instead 
of  observation,  less  correct.  In  Palamon  and  Arcite,  the  age  of 
the  rude  half-savage  hero,  Theseus,  is  converted  into  the  most 
splendid  pciiod  of  chivalry  :  snr.h  indp.pd,  as  it  exists  in  the  fables 
of  knight  errantry,  rather  than  as  it  ever  formed  a  part  of  real 
history.  Nothing  can  be  more  gross  and  glaring  than  this  ana- 
chronism, to  which  the  language  and  phraseology  are  moulded, 
as  well  as  the  manners  and  incidents. 

Perhaps,  however,  Dryden  only  meant  to  say,  that,  after  ad- 
mitting this  fiction  as  a  poetical  license,  the  assumed  manners 
and  characters  of  the  piece  will  be  found  to  be  well  preserved. 
I  doubt,  however,  if  much  praise  be  due  to  the  easy  observance 
of  consistency  in  portraitures  marked  with  the  uniformity  which 
the  artificial  principles  of  chivalry  necessarily  produced.  The 
duties  of  a  loyal  knight  towards  his  liege  lord,  his  mistress,  and 
his  antagonist,  were  laid  down  with  as  much  precision  as  the 
rules  of  any  monastic  order,  and  as  little  permitted  the  devia- 
tions of  particular  tempers  or  opinions.  If,  in  this  story,  Arcite 


DRY  DEM.  219 

is  represented  as  the  peculiar  servant  of  Mars,  and  Palamon  of 
Venus,  they  are  both  made  equally  susceptible  of  the  amorous 
passipn  in  its  most  fanciful  and  exquisite  form,  and  equally  ready 
to  renounce  all  former  ties  of  friendship,  and  fly  to  their  swords 
in  order  to  decide  their  respective  claims.  So  exactly,  indeed* 
are  they  balanced,  that  in  the  concluding  combat,  neither  does 
Arcite  gain,  nor  Palamon  lose,  any  martial  honour.  The  kings 
of  Thrace  and  India,  though  studiously  contrasted  in  their  figures, 
exhibit  no  diversity  in  action,  and  are,  indeed,  useless  for  all 
purposes  but  those  of  parade.  Emilia,  the  lady  upon  the  pos- 
session of  whom  the  whole  conduct  of  the  fable  turns,  is  a  mere 
passive  personage,  contended  for  as  a  prize,  without  any  inter- 
ference of  her  own  inclinations.  In  this  respect  she  resembles 
the  Lavinia  of  the  ^Eneid  ;  but  the  resemblance  is  of  no  advan- 
tage to  the  interest  of  the  piece.  During  the  long  period  of  the 
story,  she  is  passing  several  years  of  her  prime  apparently  un- 
Hoticed  and  insignificant,  though  a  transient  glimpse  of  her 
charms  was  capable  of  inspiring  such  a  romantic  passion  in  her 
unknown  lovers.  Theseus  is  a  feudal  monarch,  drawn  with  con- 
siderable dignity  ;  but  if  generosity  was  intended  to  form  part  of 
his  character,  it  is  blemished  by  his  resolution  of  keeping  the  two 
young  knights  prisoners  for  life,  for  no  other  crime  than  the  de- 
fence of  their  country.  This  unfeeling  rigour  is  aggravated  by 
his  detention  of  Palamon  after  he  had  consented  to  the  libera- 
tion of  Arcite ;  an  incident,  however,  essentially  connected  with 
the  events  of  the  fable. 

On  the  whole,  the  chief  merit  of  this  story  consists  in  the  co- 
pious fund  it  affords  for  various  and  splendid  description ;  an  ad- 
vantage of  which  the  poet  has  so  well  availed  himself,  that  it 
will  not  be  easy  to  name  any  work  of  its  compass,  ancient  or 
modern,  comparable  to  it  in  this  respect.  It  keeps  the  imagina- 
tion perpetually  on  the  stretch  with  the  rapid  succession  of  its 
pictures,  real  and  allegorical,  with  the  warmth  and  bustle  of  its 
action,  and  the  gorgeous  pomp  of  its  scenery.  Nor  is  it  desti- 
tute of  sentiments  appropriate  to  the  situations  of  the  actors,  and 
to  the  survey  taken  by  a  spectator  of  the  passing  events ;  for 
although  the  piece  was  originally  composed  in  those  ages  which, 
are  considered  as  little  favourable  to  the  human  understanding, 
yet  it  partakes  largely  of  such  learning  and  such  philosophy  as 
were  then  cultivated,  and  which,  perhaps,  have  been  treated  with 
more  contempt  than  they  deserved. 


220  DRYDEN.  - 

The  part  of  Dryden,  in  his  renovation  of  this  tale,  is  almost 
entirely  confined  to  the  language  in  which  he  has  clothed  it; 
for,  not  only  are  all  its  circumstances  closely  copied  from  Chau- 
cer, but  every  ornamental  addition,  and  even  every  moral  reflec- 
tion, is  to  be  found  in  the  work  of  the  old  bard,  though  often  but 
rudely  sketched  or  coarsely  executed.  Even  the  minute  deco- 
rations of  poetical  diction  are  frequently  transferred  from  the 
original ;  and  whole  lines  are  transcribed  when  the  dialect  and 
prosody  permitted  their  insertion.  Yet  Dryden's  merit  in  the 
piece  will  never  be  estimated  at  a  low  rate  by  one  capable  of 
feeling  the  charms  of  genuine  poetry;  for,  perhaps,  in  no  com- 
position of  the  language  is  there  more  of  that  fire  and  energy 
which  hurries  the  reader  along,  and  makes  him  a  sharer  in  every 
incident,  or  more  of  that  force  and  brilliancy  of  colouring  which 
brings  out  every  figure,  and  gives  it  the  fullest  effect.  If  we 
imagine  a  Raphael,  or  a  Corregio,  filling  up  the  outlines  of  some 
early  master,  we  may  form  a  just  conception  of  what  the  muse 
of  Dryden  has  effected  upon  the  draught  of  Chaucer.  To  the 
epic  magnificence  of  diction  he  has  joined  a  natural  tone  of  ex- 
pression, proceeding  from  the  intermixture  of  common  words 
and  phrases,  which  is  the  characterise  of  his  style,  and  gives  it 
a  spirit  hardly  to  be  met  with  in  that  of  any  other  poet. 

Of  the  versification  of  this  piece,  it  is  enough  to  say,  that  it 
possesses  every  excellence  for  which  the  writer  is  so  justly  famed. 
The  improvements  upon  the  matter  of  the  original  are  most  con- 
spicuous in  the  sentimental  passages,  where  Dryden  has  fre- 
quently expanded  a.  bare  hint  into  a  weighty  and  dignified  sen- 
tence. Thus,  where  Theseus,  terminating  his  long  oration  after 
the  death  of  Arcite,  says,  in  the  bald  simplicity  of  the  ancient 
bard, 

"  What  may  I  conclude  of  this  long  serie 
But  after  sorrowe  I  rede  us  to  be  merie, 
And  thanken  Jupiter  for  all  his  grace  ?" 

the  modern  rises  in  the  following  lofty  strain : 

What  then  remains,  but  aft<r  past  annoy, 
To  take  the  good  vicissitude  of  joy  ; 
To  thank  the  gracious  gods  for  what  they  give, 
Possess  our  souls,  and  while  we  live,  to  live  ? 

In  Palamon's  address  to  Venus,  Dryden  has  added  to  the  short 
invocation  of  Chaucer,  a  very  beautiful  version  of  some  cele- 


DRYDEN.  221 

brated  lines  of  Lucretius  in  praise  of  the  same  goddess.  Arcite's 
prayer  to  Mars  is  scarcely  less  improved,  and  opens  with  a  tra- 
gic grandeur  that  finely  contrasts  with  the  softness  and  elegance 
of  the  former. 

Many  of  the  descriptive  touches  of  the  modern  poet  likewise 
greatly  enhance  the  picturesque  effect  of  the  original  paintings. 
Thus,  when  Palamon  and  Arcite  first  become  enemies,  the  ex- 
pression of  their  hatred  is  strongly  marked  to  the  sight  by  Dry- 
den  : 


when  they  met,  they  made  a  surley  stand, 


And  glar'd  like  angry  lions  as  they  pass'd. 

Among  many  supposed  representations  in  the  temple  of  Venus, 
of  too  abstract  a  nature  to  be  made  manifest  to  the  senses,  which 
he  has  rather  injudiciously  copied  from  his  original,  he  adds  the 
visible  forms  of 

issuing  sighs  that  smok'd  along  the  wall'. 

Chaucer's  "  porter  Idleness"  becomes  a  characteristic,  figure 
in  the  hands  of  Dryden  : 

Before  the  palace-gate,  in  careless  dress, 
And  loose  array,  sat  portress  Idleness. 

The  "  small  houndes  about  the  fete"  of  Diana  are,  by  him,  ani- 
mated with  the  affections  of  their  species, 

And  watch  with  upward  eyes  the  motions  of  their  queen. 

Many  more  instances  of  similar  embellishment  might  be  cited ; 
and  indeed  nothing  less  could  be  expected  from  such  a  master 
in  his  art,  whose  attention  was  solely  occupied  in  beautifying  and 
polishing  a  ready-furnished  design. 

In  the  tale  of  SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO,  from  Boccacio,he 
could  derive  no  store  of  poetical  imagery  from  his  original,  which 
is  an  unadorned  narrative  in  prose  ;  nor  has  he  aimed  at  more 
than  that  middle  style  of  verse  which  suits  the  relation  of  a  do- 
mestic occurrence,  and  the  eloquence  of  sentiment.  Force  and 
dignity  of  language,  with  singular  clearness,  are  his  character- 
istics in  this  story,  which  keeps  close  to  the  Italian  author,  both 
in  the  narrative  and  the  sentimental  part.  In  one  point,  indeed, 
Dryden  has  better  consulted  morals  and  decorum  ;  which  is,  that 
he  has  made  a  secret  marriage  precede  the  accomplishment  of 


222  DRYDEN. 

the  lovers'  wishes ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  has  added  so  much 
warmth  of  colouring  to  the  description,  that  decency  cannot  upon 
the  whole  be  reckoned  a  gainer.  Female  delicacy,  indeed,  was 
a  thing  of  which  he  never  seems  to  have  entertained  a  concep- 
tion. The  love  here  painted  is  simply  what  the  French  would 
call  amour  physique  ;  a  natural  and  allowable  affection,  it  is  true, 
but  such  as  all  writers,  attentive  to  the  preservation  of  mental 
purity,  have  studiously  kept  out  of  sight.  Dryden,  on  the  con- 
trary, brings  it  to  open  view,  without  any  veil  to  soften  its  fea- 
tures. The  address  of  Sigismonda  to  her  father  after  detection, 
the  firm  and  dignified  language  of  which  gives  it  an  air  of  eleva- 
tion, almost  incurs  the  charge  of  impudence,  from  the  broad  and 
undisguised  confession  of  feelings  which  none  but  the  loosest  of 
the  sex  would  avow. 

The  incidents  of  this  story  are,  however,  striking  and  pathetic, 
and  the  catastrophe  is  wrought  with  skill.   The  address  of  Sigis- 
monda to  her  lover's  heart  in  the  vase,  is  copied  from  the  Ital 
ian ;  but  Dryden  has  not  the  excuse  of  Italian  conceit  for  hb 
extravagant  line — 

My  tears  shall  set  thee  first  afloat  within  thy  tomb. 

The  manner  in  which  she  sets  about  this  duty  to  her  lover's 
remains  seems  to  require  the  serious  application  of  the  comic 
maxim,  "  Women,  when  they  list,  can  weep."  Dryden  has,  how- 
ever, made  it  truly  poetical  by  the  beauty  of  his  verses,  and  the 
simile  of  the  "  low-hung  clouds."  It  were  to  be  wished  that  his 
judgment  had  rejected  the  idea  of  "  discharging  her  head"  by  the 
flow  of  tears,  which  gives  an  image  rather  medical  than  poetical. 
The  parallel  passage  in  Boccacio  is  worth  copying,  as  it  will  af- 
ford an  useful  comparison  between  the  writer  in  prose  and  the 
writer  in  verse. 

"  Et  cosi  detto,  non  ultramente  che  se  una  fonte  d'acqua  nella 
testa  havuta  havesse,  senza  fare  alcun  femminil  romore,  soprala 
coppa  chinatasi  piangendo,  comincio  a  versare  tante  lagrime,  che 
mirabil  cosa  furono  a  riguardare,  basciando  infinite  volte  il  morto 
cuore." 

"Thus  having  spoken,  as  if  there  had  been  a  fountain  of  water 
in  her  head,  bending  over  the  cup,  without  any  feminine  lament- 
ation, she  shed  such  an  abundance  of  tears  as  was  wonderful  to 
behold,  giving  innumerable  kisses  to  the  dead  heart." 

The  simplicity  is  certainly  no  diminution  of  the  pathetic. 


DRYDEN.  223 

THE  COCK  AND  THE  Fox;  or  THE  TALE  OF  THE  NUN'S  PRIEST. 
owes  almost  all  its  beauty,  its  learning,  and  its  absurdity,  to  the 
original  author,  Chaucer.  The  fable,  in  which  birds  and  beasts 
talk  like  school-men  and  divines,  bespeaks  the  taste  of  the  dark 
ages  ;  a  laste  which  Dryden  had  sanctioned  by  his  "  Hind  and 
Panther."  Ascribing  to  the  inferior  animals  the  speech  and  rea, 
son  of  men  (the  essence  of  fable)  is  already  such  a  deviation  from 
nature  and  truth,  that  an  additional  improbability  costs  little 
more  to  the  imagination.  It  must  be  owned,  however,  that  quo- 
tations from  the  philosophers  and  fathers  have  a  whimsical  effect 
in  a  dialogue  between  Chanticleer  and  Partlet.  The  Latin 
passage,  "Mulier  est  hominis  confusio,"  so  complaisantly  in- 
terpreted to  Partlet,  is  a  piece  of  waggery  literally  copied 
from  Chaucer ;  there  is  an  inconsistency,  however,  in  making 
her  unacquainted  with  Latin,  after  she  had  quoted  Galen  and 
Cato,  unless  it  be  supposed,  that  Dame  Partlet's  learning,  like 
Shakespeare's,  was  derived  from  translation. 

The  most  striking  parts  of  the  description  in  this  tale  are 
taken  from  Chaucer  with  little  addition  or  improvement :  the 
lively  pictures,  for  example,  of  the  cock  and  the  fox,  are  only 
new  varnished  by  Dryden's  versification.  The  humourous  group 
of  pursuers  of  the  fox  is  Chaucer's  with  the  exception  of  the  vicar 
who  is  introduced  with  little  propriety;  and  no  advantage  is 
gained  by  the  more  exaggerated  terms  in  which  their  action  is 
described  by  the  modern  poet.  It  is  not  in  his  natural,  but  in 
his  intellectual  paintings,  that  the  superiority  of  Dryden  appears 
with  its  proper  lustre.  Thus,  the  fine  passage  respecting  the  na- 
ture of  dreams, 

Dreams  are  but  interludes  that  fancy  makes,  &cc. 

is  barely  suggested  by  four  simple  lines  of  the  original.  He  has 
displayed  his  theological  skill  in  discussing  more  at  length,  and 
with  more  argumentative  precision,  the  knotty  point  of  predesti- 
nation. It  is  observable,  that  he  has  superadded  to  the  treach- 
erous character  of  Reynard,  the  circumstance  of  religious  hypo- 
crisy; a  vice  he  was  always  fond  of  lashing,  both  in  season  and 
out  of  season. 

Like  many  other  amusing  fables,  it  has  not  much  instruction 
to  boast  of.     The  most  obvious  moral  deducible  from  it,  is  a 


224  DRYDEN. 

warning  against  love  of  flattery.  Chaucer  to  this  has  added  the 
exposure  of  one 

That  jangleth  when  that  he  should  hold  his  peace, 

alluding  to  the  folly  of  the  fox,  who  gives  the  cock  an  opportu- 
nity of  escaping,  by  opening  his  mouth  to  make  a  speech:  but  this 
purpose  is  overlooked  or  rejected  by  Dryden. 

In  none  of  these  tales  does  the  genius  of  the  poet  break  out 
with  more  splendour  than  in  that  of  THEODORE  AND  HONORIA, 
from  Boccacio.  Exclusive  of  the  names,  which  are  different  in 
the  Italian  author,  his  narrative  is  exactly  followed  by  Dryden, 
who  is  an  inventor  only  in  the  picturesque  touches  with  which 
he  has  animated  the  recital.  The  story  in  itself  is,  indeed,  highly 
impressive,  and  full  of  that  romantic  wildness  which  seizes  on 
the  imagination ;  but  the  effect  is  greatly  enhanced  by  the  art  of 
the  poet,  who  has  improved  every  circumstance  that  might  con- 
tribute to  the  leading  emotion,  that  of  terror.  The  manner  in 
which  he  prepares  the  reader  for  the  first  appearance  of  the  hor- 
rid phantom  cannot  be  too  much  admired  ', 

Whilst  listening  to  the  murrn'ring  leaves  he  stood,  &c. 

The  singular  happiness  of  the  versification  in  the  lines  de- 
scriptive of  the  sudden  calm  and  pause  in  nature,  previous  to 
the  whirlwind  which  ushered  in  the  apparition,  has  attracted  the 
notice  of  various  critics,  and  must  be  felt  by  every  ear  sensible 
of  the  harmony  of  poetry.  The  figures  of  the  flying  maid,  the 
hell-hounds,  and  the  infernal  huntsman,  are  drawn  with  wonder- 
ful force  ;  but  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  no  small  part  of  the 
praise  belongs  to  the  original,  which  has  sketched  the  same  ob- 
jects in  a  very  spirited  manner.  The  passage  is  worth  quotation. 
"  Vide  venire  per  un  boschetto  asai  folto  d'arbuscelli  e  di  pruni, 
correndo  verso  il  luogo  dove  cgli  era,  una  bellissima  giovane 
ignuda,  scapigliata  e  tutta  graffiata  dalle  frasche  e  dai  pruni, 
piagnendo  e  gridando  forte  merce  ;  e  oltre  a  questo  le  vide  a 
iianchi  due  grandissimi  e  fieri  mastini,  liquali  duramente  appresso 
correndole  spesse  volte  crudelmente  dove  la  giungevario,  la 
mordevano ;  e  dietro  allei  vide  venire  sopra  un  corsiere  nero  un 
cavalier  bruno  forte  nel  viso  crucciato  con  uno  stocco  in  mano, 
lei  di  morte  con  parole  spaventevoli  e  villane  minacciando." 


DRYDEN.  225 

"  He  saw,  issuing  from  a  thicket  overgrown  with  bushes  and 
thorns,  and  running  towards  the  place  wh^re  he  was,  a  * .  ry 
beautiful  damsel,  naked  with  dishevelled  hair,  and  all  torn  v-.ih 
the  briars  and  brambles,  wailing  and  crying  aloud,  '  Mercy  !•" 
And  he  further  saw  at  her  flanks  two  great  and  tierce  mastiffs, 
which  running  close  after  her,  frequently  reached  and  cruelly 
bit  her :  behind  them  he  saw  riding  upon  a  black  courser  a  dark 
complexioned  cavalier,  with  fury  in  his  countenance,  and  a 
drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  threatening  her  with  death  in  terrible 
and  injurious  terms." 

Dryden  has  with  good  effect  made  the  damsel's  cry  for  mercy 
correspond  with  the  bite  of  the  dogs,  and  added  the  superstition 
of  the  relief  produced  by  invoking  the  name  of  Heaven.  The 
picture  of  the  knight,  too,  is  finely  heightened  by  the  line, 

With  flashing  flames  his  ardent  eyes  were  fill'd, 

and  by  the  action  of  cheering  his  dogs  to  the  chase. 

It  is  a  proof  of  the  poet's  extraordinary  powers,  that  he  has 
been  able  to  make  the  second  representation  of  the  visionary 
scene  scarcely  less  impressive  than  the  first;  it  is  aided,  indeed, 
by  the  contrast  of  the  splendid  feast  preceding  it,  and  by  the 
presence  of  Honoria  herself  to  witness  it.  Dryden  has  much 
enlarged  upon  the  original  in  describing  the  operation  of  the 
tremendous  spectacle  on  the  lady's  mind,  according  to  his  usual 
practice  of  dwelling  diffusely  upon  circumstances  of  mental  af- 
fection. Her  looking  back  at  every  noise,  and  starting  as  if  she 
heard 

— — the  horsernari'ghost  come  thundVmg  for  his  prey, 

are  strokes  of  nature.  The  lessen  of  the  tale  was  probably  the 
least  part  of  the  concern  of  either  writer.  Its  coarse  conclusion 
in  Dryden  is  entirely  his  own. 

THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF,  or,  THE  LADY  IN  THE  ARBOUR, 
a  vision,  from  Chaucer,  possesses  in  the  original  that  degree  of 
descriptive  splendour,  which  limits  the  merit  of  the  modern  poet 
to  little  more  than  improved  diction  and  harmonious  versifica- 
tion. The  very  beautiful  introductory  picture  of  spring,  as  in- 
fluencing the  vegetable  creation,  is,  however,  Dryden's  own,  and 
displays  the  power  of  a  master  to  throw  novelty  upon  a  trite  sub- 
ject. The  progress  of  the  buds,  which  at  first  shrink  from  the 
Ff 


226  DRYDEN. 

cold  blast,  and  stand  "  doubting  at  the  door  of  life,"  till  at  length* 
filled  with  the  genial  spirit,  they  expand  to  the  sun,  and  breathe 
out  their  souls  of  fragrance,  is  delineated  with  exquisite  fancy 
and  elegance. 

The  scenery  of  this  vision  is  not  less  gorgeous  than  that  of  the 
Knight's  Tale ;  and  like  it,  derives  most  of  its  brilliancy  from 
the  costume  of  chivalry.  Dryden  seems  to  riot  in  description  of 
this  kind,  which  he  decorates  with  all  the  pomp  and  pride  of  his 
verse.  He  professes,  however,  to  have  been  attracted  to  this 
tale  principally  by  its  moral,  which  consists  in  extolling  active 
virtue  and  fortitude  in  comparison  with  inglorious  ease  and  self- 
indulgence.  Yet  the  allegory  is  confused  and  obscure,  and  little 
interest  is  attached  to  the  action  or  actors. 

There  is  no  hint  in  Chaucer  of  the  fairy  system  adopted  by  Dry- 
den  for  the  personages  in  the  pageant,  and  which  somewhat  re- 
sembles the  machinery  in  the  Rape  of  the  Lock.  Chaucer,  in- 
deed, supposes  them  to  have  had  a  prior  existence,  and  identifies 
some  of  them  as  the  Nine  Worthies,  the  knights  of  the  Round 
Table,  the  "  Douseperis"  (twelve  peers  of  Charlemagne),  &c. ; 
but  he  does  not  concern  himself  to  account  for  their  appearance 
on  the  present  occasion.  So  far,  therefore,  the  fiction  is  improved 
by  the  modern  poet. 

Dryden  has  fallen  into  a  singular  inadvertence  in  giving  bows 
to  Arthur's  knights,  in  which  he  finds  an  emblematical  propriety, 

For  bows  the  strength  of  brawny  arms  imply. 

The  original,  it  is  true,  speaks  of  their  "baring  bowes  in  their 
hand,"  but  these  are  only  the  laurel  boughs  mentioned  in  the 
beginning  of  the  description,  disguised  under  a  different  ortho- 
graphy. 

The  comparison  between  the  qualities  of  the  leaf  and  of  the 
flower  is  wrought  by  Dryden  with  much  beauty,  and  the  moral 
is  well  pointed ;  yet  the  fable  upon  the  whole  partakes  of  the 
languor  usually  attached  to  allegory,  and  probably  will  to  most 
readers  appear  the  least  entertaining  in  the  collection,  thougli 
certainly  not  the  least  poetical. 

The  keen  and  lively  sarcasm  against  the  priesthood  with  which 
the  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  TALE  opens,  is  found  in  the  original  author, 
Chaucer:  butitsowt  11  suited  the  dispositionof  his  modernises  that 
he  has  given  it  with  enlargements.  The  "  midnight  parson  post- 
ing o'er  the  green  with  gown  tucked  up  to  wakes''  is  a  figure  of 


DRYDEN.  227 

his  own  invention,  by  which  he  doubtless  meant  to  extend  his 
satire  to  the  clergy  of  his  own  time;  but  he  did  not  reflect  that 
the  same  person  could  not  consistently  sustain  the  part  of  Chau- 
cer's friar,  who  "bids  his  beads  both  even -song  and  morn." 

The  subsequent  story  is  related  by  Dryden  in  a  paraphrasti- 
cal  manner,  with  free  license  of  invention.  One  of  his  added 
passages  is  remarkable,  as  it  alludes  to  that  species  of  apology 
for  his  own  licentiousness  in  writing,  which  the  attacks  of  Col- 
lier and  others  had  forced  from  him. 

Then  courts  of  kings  were  held  in  high  renown, 

Ere  made  the  common  brothels  of  the  town  : 

There  virgins  honourable  vows  receiv'd, 

But  chaste  as  maids  in  monasteries  liv'd  : 

The  king  himself,  to  nuptial  ties  a  slave, 

No  bad  example  to  his  poets  gave  : 

And  they,  not  bad  but  in  a  vicious  age, 

Had  not,  to  please  the  prince,  debauch'd  the  stage. 

At  this  time  he  was,  indeed,  if  not  cured  by  age  and  reflection 
of  his  propensities,  yet  awed  into  some  regard  for  decorum  ;  and 
he  has  taken  credit  in  his  preface  for  abstaining  from  versifying 
Chaucer's  prologue  to  this  very  tale,  which  was  afterwards  one 
of  Pope's  juvenile  exercises. 

The  story  of  Midas,  introduced  by  the  way  of  illustration,  is 
enlivened  with  some  humourous  strokes,  net  very  reverential  to 
royalty  ;  for  Dryden,  though  accustomed  to  use  the  language  of 
the  most  obsequious  courtier,  appears  in  his  heart  to  have  re- 
garded the  distinctions  of  rank  and  birth,  as  they  will  always  be 
looked  upon  by  the  man  who  is  conscious  of  possessing,  in  his 
own  mind,  something  intrinsically  superior  to  both. 

In  the  progress  of  the  tale,  after  the  beldam  hap  agreed  with 
the  knight  to  furnish  him  with  a  solution  of  the  queen's  ques- 
tion, Dryden  adds  a  circumstance  of  which  there  is  no  vestige 
in  the  original.  He  makes  her  spread  her  mantle  on  the  ground, 
and  seat  the  knight  and  herself  upon  it,  when  they  are  conveyed 
with  a  wish  to  King  Arthur's  court.  This  fiction,  apparently 
borrowed  from  the  Arabian  Nights,  is  not  unsuitable  to  the  fairy 
machinery  on  which  the  tale  is  founded  ;  yet  it  seems  to  injure 
the  final  effect,  by  anticipating  supernatural  powers,  which  should 
have  remained  concealed  from  the  knight  till  the  concluding  trial 
of  his  obedience. 

The  "long  sermon,"  as  Dryden  justly  calls  it,  of  the  bride  on 


2:28  DRYDEN. 

the  wedding  night,  is  greatly  amplified  by  the  modern  writer,  par- 
ticularly with  respect  to  the  topic  of  nobility.  As  this  is  also 
discussed  at  length  in  the  story  of 'Sigismonda  and  Guiscardo, 
he  has  thought  it  necessary  to  apologise  in  his  preface  for  the  re- 
petition, which  he  imputes  to  the  failure  of  his  memory.  In  the 
present  instance  he  has  borrowed  some  thoughts  from  Juvenal,  an 
author  with  whom  he  was  familiar  as  a  translator.  The  beautiful 
metaphor  in  which  nobility  is  termed 

a  long  trail  of  light  to  thee  descending  down, 

is  the  product  of  his  own  fancy. 

The  tale  of  LYMON  AND  IPHIGENIA,  from  Boccacio,  begins 
with  an  apologetical  preface,  in  which  the  poet,  in  his  own  name, 
defends  himself  from  the  "  severe  divine"  who  had  inveighed 
against  the  licentiousness  of  his  verse,  and  retorts  upon  him  in  a 
way  that  displays  more  irritation  than  penitence.  His  praise  of 
virtuous  love,  however,  is  equally  just  and  noble,  and  forms  a 
suitable  prelude  to  a  story,  of  which  the  animating  effects  of  that 
passion  are  the  subject. 

All  the  incidents  of  the  tale,  as  well  as  many  of  the  descrip- 
tive beauties,  are  copied  from  the  Italian.  The  natural  circum- 
stance of  Cymon's  quarter-staff',  which  appears  truly  English,  is 
taken  from  the  "  bastone  in  collo''  of  Boccacio ;  but  the  happy 
line. 

He  whistled  as  he  went  for  want  of  thought, 

is  Dryden's  addition.  In  the  picture  of  the  sleeping  nymph,  he 
has  exerted  his  utmost  skill ;  and  every  reader,  sensible  to  the 
charms  of  versification,  will  admire  the  lines  in  which  the  "fan- 
ning wind"  and  the  "rising  bosom"  are  so  melodiously  alterna- 
ted. The  apt  simile  of  the  light  running  through  chaos,  by  which 
the  sudden  effect  of  love  upon  the  sluggish  soul  of  Oymon  is  il- 
lustrated, is  original  in  our  poet ;  yet  it  might  have  been  suggest- 
ed by  the 

'  Ignea  rima  micans  percflPrit  lumine  nimbos" 
of  Virgil.     That  of  the  pilgrim  who 

stands  with  awful  eyes  to  watch  the  dawn  of  day. 

is  another  of  his  poetical  contributions. 


DRYDEN.  229 

His  propensity  to  exaggerate  in  all  his  paintings  has  led  him 
too  much  to  multiply  epithets  denoting  the  stupidity  of  the  new 
lover,  such  as  "  the  man  beast,"  "  the  fool  of  nature,"  "  the  sla- 
vering cudden."  The  miracle  of  creating  sense  in  an  absolute 
idiot  is  too  great  for  even  love  to  effect ;  and  the  more  modest 
wonder  of  rousing  to  action  the  latent  seeds  of  intellect,  affords 
sufficient  scope  for  the  encomiast  of  that  passion.  This,  indeed, 
is  the  light  in  which  the  change  prodnced  in  Cymon  is  afterwards 
viewed ;  for  Dryden,  varying  a  little  from  the  poetical  imagery 
of  the  original,  thus  describes  the  operation  of  the  new  agent  in 
his  soul : 

What  then  of  altered  Cymon  shall  we  say, 
But  that  the  fire  which  chok'd  in  ashes  lay, 
A  load  too  heavy  for  his  soul  to  move, 
Was  upward  blown  below,  and  brush'd  away  by  love? 

The  subsequent  events  of  the  fable  will  not  bear  a  rigourous 
examination  in  a  moral  view,  since  the  sole  maxim  they  inculcate 
is,  that  every  thing  is  lawful  to  lovers,  The  ladies  are  to  deter- 
mine how  far  Dryden  has  improved  the  story  by  representing 
Iphigenia  as  a  willing  prey  to  the  ravishers,  of  which  no  symp- 
tom appears  in  the  narration  of  Boccacio  :  it  may,  however,  be 
presumed,  that  his  habitual  coarseness  of  sentiment,  with  respect 
to  feminine  attachments,  will  excite  their  displeasure,  and  that 
they  will  disavow  the  line 

She  hugg'd  th'  offender,  and  forgave  th'  offence. 

The  modest  Italian  takes  care  to  inform  his  reader,  that  Cymon 
lost  his  newly  gained  Iphigenia,  "  senza  altro  haverle  tolto,  che 
alcun  bascio" — having  taken  nothing  from  her  but  a  few  kisses. 
Tney  who  are  acquainted  with  Dryden's  manner  and  princi- 
ples will  not  doubt  that  the  lively  satire  on  the  "  rude  militia  raw 
in  fields"  is  all  his  own.  When  this  is  compared  with  what  he 
has  said  of  the  regular  soldiers  of  Tancred, 

Dangerous  to  freedom,  and  desir'd  alone 
B)  kings  who  seek  an  arbitrary  throne, 

in  which  he  doubtless  alluded  to  the  guards  of  King  William,  it 
will  curiously  exemplify  the  inconsistencies  of  a  party  spirit. 

The  sudden  changes  of  fortune  in  this  story  render  it  interest- 
ing, though  its  bloody  catastrophe  is  displeasing,  and  we  feel  3. 


^3U  DRYDEN. 

repugnance  to  ally  the  cause  of  Cymon  with  that  of  Lysimachus, 
which  has  no  colour  of  right  or  justice. 

By  way  of  atonement  for  his  perpetual  vein  of  satire  against 
the  clergy,  Dryden  has  wrought  with  uncommon  care  his  CHA- 
RACTER or  A  GOOD  PARSON,  imitated  and  enlarged  from  that  of 
Chaucer  in  the  prologue  to  his  Canterbury  Tales.  The  features 
are  essentially  the  same  as  those  of  the  original ;  nor  is  there  one 
truly  pastoral  virtue  added  to  the  draught  of  the  ancient  poet; 
but  Dryden's  has  a  more  sanctified  air,  and  is  more  conformable 
to  the  Roman  Catholic  model.  Chaucer  is  contented  to  praise 
the  patience  with  which  he  submitted  to  indigent  circumstances; 
while  his  imitator  thinks  it  necessary  to  add  the  merit  of  volun- 
tary abstinence  :  the  first  makes  his  parson  charitable  to  the 
poor  ;  the  second  represents  him  as  renouncing  every  idea  of  pro- 
perty, and  regarding  all  he  received  as  part  of  the  public  store. 

The  beautiful  sitnilies  and  illustrations  with  which  Dryden's 
portrait  is  interspersed,  are  his  own,  one  excepted,  which  alludes 
to  the  superior  degree  of  holiness  required  in  the  clerical  cha- 
racter, thus  expressed  in  the  original : 

"And  this  figure  he  added  yet  thereto, 
That  if  gold  rustes,  what  shuld  iren  do?" 

The  salvo  for  papal  power,  under  the  notion  of  the  double  reign 
of  St.  Peter*s  successor,  is  an  offering  paid  by  the  convert  to  his 
new  faith  :  Chaucer,  addicted  to  the  principles  of  Wickliffe,  was 
not  likely  to  give  a  sanction  to  Romish  usurpation. 

All  the  latter  part  of  Dryden's  piece  is  an  addition,  evidently 
referring  to  the  nonjuring  clergy  under  King  William.  It  sup- 
ports the  doctrine  of  indefeasible  right  to  the  crown  in  the  lineal 
heirs,  and  the  consequent  duty  of  subjects  to  conform  to  it: 

That  the  title  stood  entail'd,had  Richard  had  a  son  ? 

What  he  stigmatises  as  "  the  senseless  plea  of  right  by  provi- 
dence," invented  by  "a  flattering  priest,"  must  allude  to  the 
injudicious  defence  of  William's  succession  to  the  throne,  by 
Bishop  Burnef.  Of  this  plea,  Dryden  justly  observes,  that  it 

— — —  lasts  no  Inngc  r  than  the  present  sway, 
Hut  justifies,  the  next  who  comes  in  play. 

His  picture  of  the  priest  after  he  had  voluntarily  quitted  his 
benefice,  extending,  like  a  primitive  apostle,  his  care  of  souls 


DRYDEN.  231 

throughout  the  land,  is  highly  interesting,  and  was  probably  drawn 
from  the  life.  Whatever  be  thought  of  the  judgment  or  consis- 
tency of  the  nonjuring  clergy,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  some  of 
them  were  bright  examples  of  pious  resignation  under  sufferings 
for  conscience  sake. 

Such  are  the  varied  contents  of  this  noble  production  of  Dry  - 
den's  old  age.  At  a  similar  late  period  of  life,  Milton  wrote  his 
Paradise  Lost.  The  two  works  will  bear  no  comparison  in  point 
of  magnitude  and  grandeur ;  yet  those  beauties  in  detail,  for 
which  alone  such  a  design  as  that  of  renovating  and  adorning  an- 
cient writings  affords  scope,  are  not  less  conspicuous  in  Dryden's 
Fables,  than  the  higher  qualities  of  poetry  are  in  the  master- 
piece of  Milton.  All  that  at  any  time  constituted  the  charac- 
teristic excellence  of  Dryden's  muse,  appears  in  full  perfection 
in  these  autumnal  fruits;  and  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  time 
whilst  English  poetry  shall  continue  to  be  cultivated,  when  the 
harmony  of  numbers  and  splendour  of  diction  in  these  pieces, 
shall  cease  to  inspire  admiration  and  delight. 


OBSERVATIONS 


ON 


POPE'S 


OF  the  poems  of  Pope,  none  perhaps  is  more  celebrated  iu 
popular  fame,  none  has  afforded  more  passages  for  storing  in 
the  memory,  and  applying  on  common  occasions,  than  the  ESSAY 
ON  MAN.  It  cannot,  therefore,  be  an  uninteresting  topic,  to  in- 
quire what  has  given  it  such  a  share  of  the  public  approbation; 
and  how  its  author  has  contrived  to  render  it  at  the  same  time 
the  favourite  of  the  graver  part,  and  the  admiration  of  the  more 
polished,  of  his  readers. 

The  work  is  by  the  writer  himself  represented  as  a  short  sys- 
tem of  ethics ,  which  he  might  as  well  have  composed  in  prose  as 
in  verse,  had  he  not  preferred  the  latter  for  two  reasons  ;— one, 
that  principles  and  maxims  when  versified  are  more  impressive^ 
and  adhere  more  firmly  in  the  memory;  the  other,  that  he  was 
able  to  express  himself  with  more  brevity  in  verse  than  in  prose. 
With  respect,  then,  to  the  subject  itself,  it  appears  that  he  did 
not  select  it  on  account  of  any  peculiar  fitness  he  discerned  in 
it  to  become  the  ground-work  of  a  poern  ;  but,  that,  having 
chosen  it  for  another  reason,  he  gave  it  the  clothing  of  verse,  as 
in  his  opinion  the  most  advantageous.  And  this  representation 
nearly  coincides  with  the  received  fact,  that  the  work  was  sug- 
gested to  him  by  his  friend,  Lord  Bolingbroke,  who  sketched  out 
the  plan,  and  furnished  most  of  the  materials,  with  the  intention 
of  ushering  into  the  world  a  system  of  his  own,  decorated  with 
the  poetry  of  Pope.  Bolingbroke  had  himself  sufficient  vigour 
of  imagination  and  brilliancy  of  style  to  have  written  a  prose 
essay  which  might  engage  the  attention  of  persons  fond  of  moral 
and  philosophical  speculation  ;  but  by  judiciously  borrowing  the 


POPE.  23$ 

Muse  of  Pope,  he  has  diffused  his  sentiments  on  these  topics 
through  all  classes  and  ages  of  English  literature:  has  made 
them  familiar  to  our  early  and  our  mature  conceptions ;  and 
stamped  them  in  indelible  characters  on  the  language  of  the 
country.  This  conversion  of  a  dry  and  argumentative  subject 
into  a  splendid  and  popular  one,  is  a  miracle  of  the  poetic  art ; 
and  an  inquiry  into  the  means  by  which  it  has  been  effected  will 
probably  go  far  into  the  elucidation  of  that  essential  character  of 
poetical  composition  which  distinguishes  it  from  prose. 

On  taking  a  survey  of  the  Essay  on  Man  for  the  purpose  of 
marking  and  arranging  its  most  striking  passages,  it  will  proba- 
bly be  found  that  they  are  reducible  to  three  principal  heads,. 
1st.  A  maxim,  proposition,  or  sentence  often  occurs,  presented 
in  the  naked  simplicity  of  philosophical  language,  but  so  concen- 
tred by  nervous  brevity,  and  rounded  by  the  harmonious  struc- 
ture of  the  verse,  that  it  sinks  into  the  mind  with  the  same  kind 
of  force  that  a  weighty  and  polished  ball  penetrates  solid  matter. 
It  would  be  easy  from  every  epistle  to  adduce  examples  of  this 
excellence.  Thus,  speaking  of  the  Deity,  he  says, 

To  him  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  s^.all ; 
He  fills,  he  bounds,  connects,  and  equals  all : 

Of  Man ; 

Th(  glory,  jest,  and  riddle  of  the  world : 
Born  but  to  die,  and  reas'ning  but  to  err  j 

Of  Providence  ; 

All  Nature  is  but  Art  unknown  to  thee; 

All  Chance,  Direction  which  thou  canst  not  see  ; 

All  Discord,  Harmony  not  understood  ; 

All  partial  Evil,  universal  Good. 

In  this  style  most  of  the  purely  argumentative  parts  are  writ- 
ten ;  and  so  superior  was  Pope  to  all  other  authors,  whether  in 
verse  or  prose,  in  this  respect,  that  his  sincere  friend  and  ad- 
mirer, Swift,  selects  this  faculty  as  his  distinguishing  excel- 
lence : 

"  When  Pope  can  in  one  couplet  fix 
More  sense  than  I  can  do  in  six  ;" 

yet  Swift  himself  was  by  no  means  a  feeble  or  prolix  writer. 
Now,  as  nothing  comes  more  home  to  the  minds  of  men  in  gene- 
ral, or  is  more  universally  congenial  to  the  taste  of  readers,  than 


POPE, 

the  writer  was  occasionally  tired  or  bewildered  in  following  his 
argument — and  that  the  poet  and  system  builder  did  not  always 
happily  draw  together :  but  these  remarks  lead  to  the  consi- 
deration of  another  topic,  the  proper  subject  or  matter  of  this 
Essay. 

Concerning  the  system  of  ethics  contained  in  the  Essay  on 
Man,  much  has  been  written  ;  and  in  particular,  the  learned  pre- 
late who  undertook  the  office  of  editor  to  Pope's  miscellaneous 
works  has  bestowed  much  pains  upon  it  in  the  elaborate  notes 
and  commentary  accompanying  the  text.  But  erudition  and 
acuteness  are  not  the  only  requisites  of  a  good  commentator. 
That  conformity  of  sentiment  which  enables  him  fully  to  enter 
into  the  intention  of  his  author,  and  that  fairness  of  disposition 
\vhich  places  him  above  every  wish  of  disguising  or  misrepre- 
senting it,  are  qualifications  not  less  essential.  In  these  points 
it  is  no  breach  of  candour  to  affirm  (since  the  public  voice  has 
awarded  the  sentence)  that  Dr.  Warburton  has  in  various  of  his 
critical  labours  shown  himself  extremely  defective  ;  and  perhaps 
in  none  more  than  in  those  he  has  expended  upon  this  perform- 
ance ;  his  manifest  purposes  in  which  have  been,  to  give  it  a'sys- 
tematic  perfection  that  it  does  not  possess,  to  conceal  as  much 
as  possible  the  suspicious  source  whence  the  author  derived  his 
leading  ideas,  and  to  reduce  the  whole  to  the  standard  of  moral 
orthodoxy.  So  much  is  the  sense  of  the  poet  strained  and  warp- 
ed by  these  processes  of  his  commentator,  that  it  is  scarcely 
possible  in  many  places  to  enter  into  his  real  meaning,  without 
laying  aside  the  commentary,  and  letting  the  text  speak  for 
itself. 

Somewhat,  however,  of  an  analytical  view  of  the  subject  and 
reasoning,  connected  by  such  a  chain  of  method  as  is  clearly 
deducible  from  the  work  itself,  cannot  but  be  useful  by  way  of 
preparing  the  reader,  who  perhaps  may  be  little  conversant  with 
argumentative  topics,  for  comprehending  it  as  a  whole.  And 
this  I  shall  endeavour  to  supply  by  a  prefatory  sketch  of  the  con- 
tents, drawn  up  with  as  much  brevity  as  is  consistent  with  the 
purpose  in  view. 

The  ESSAY  ON  MAN  is  divided  into  four  epistles.  Of  these, 
the  first  peculiarly  treats  of  Man  with  respect  to  the  place  he 
holds  in  the  universe  ;  and  the  principal  topic  is  the  refutation 
of  all  objections  against  the  wisdom  and  benevolence  of  that 
providence  which  placed  him  here,  derived  from  the  weakness 


POPE.  237 

and  imperfection  of  his  nature.  After  a  dignified  exordium,  in 
\vhich  the  poet  invites  his  friend  to  accompany  him  in  a  survey 
of  the  whole,  "scene  of  Man,''  with  the  final  intention  of  justify- 
ing the  ways  of  God  towards  him,  (which  is  to  be  regarded  as 
the  general  subject  of  the  entire  Essay) — he  proceeds  to  some 
remarks  on  the  impossibility  of  comprehending,  with  the  limited 
faculties  of  the  human  mind,  the  plan  of  Deity  in  framing  the 
system  of  the  universe  ;  and  he  sets  in  strong  contrast  the  omni- 
science of  the  Creator  against  the  ignorance  of  the  creature.  Yet, 
in  laying  it  down  as  a  principle,  that  "  we  can  can  reason  only 
from  what  we  know,"  he  seems  to  invalidate  some  of  his  own 
conjectural  arguments  concerning  that  order  of  the  universe 
which  is  to  account  for  apparent  partial  defects.)  The  leading 
idea  running  through  this  book,  is  that  of  a  scale  of  beings,  rising 
in  due  gradation  one  above  another,  all  bearing  a  relation  to  the 
great  whole,  and  each  endowed  with  the  faculties  proper  for  its 
station.  In  such  a  scale,  there  must  be  such  a  being  as  Man  ;  and 
there  is,  therefore,  no  more  reason  to  wonder  that  he  is  not  ele- 
vated higher,  than  that  he  is  raised  so  high.  That  he  is  best  fitted 
for  the  place  he  occupies,  is  attempted  to  be  shown  by  various 
striking  observations  ;  and  much  lively  correction  is  bestowed 
upon  that  pride  which  inclines  us  to  believe  the  whole  creation 
made  for  our  use  alone,  and  leads  us  rather  to  form  vain  wishes 
for  unattainable  perfections,  than  to  accommodate  ourselves  to 
our  present  lot.  After  a  very  noble  description  of  the  divine  attri- 
butes, and  an  exhortation  to  pious  trust  in  an  over-ruling  Pro- 
vidence, the  book  concludes  with  asserting  as  a  clear  deduction 
from  the  whole,  the  great  axiom  that  whatever  is,  is  right.  That 
this  conclusion  is  strictly  warranted  by  the  premises,  and  that 
the  mode  of  proof  is  the  best  that  could  be  devised  in  point  of 
cogency  and  arrangement,  will  probably  be  called  in  question  by 
logical  reasoners ;  but  the  wonderful  energy  of  some  of  the  pas- 
sages, and  the  poetical  splendour  of  others,  are  so  calculated  for 
effect  on  the  mind  of  the  reader,  that  he  must  be  cold  indeed 
who  does  not  rise  from  the  perusal  impressed  and  animated. 
Perhaps,  if  a  person  were  called  upon  to  exhibit  an  example  of 
the  utmost  power  of  the  English  language  in  fulness,  strength, 
and  dignity  of  expression,  he  could  not  choose  more  happily  than 
those  lines  near  the  close  of  this  epistle  in  which  the  Deity  is 
represented  as  the  soul  of  the  universe. 

The  second  epistle  begins  with  pointing  out  "the  proper  study 


238  POPE. 

of  mankind/'  namely,  themselves  ;  yet  it  cannot  be  said  that  Ihc 
bold  contrast  drawn  between  the  powers  of  the  human  mind,  on 
the  one  part,  and  its  weakness  on  the  other,  is  highly  encouraging. 
If  Newton,  with  the  wonderful  reach  of  his  intellectual  faculties, 
were  unable  to  "  describe  or  fix  one  movement  of  his  mind," 
what  other  man  may  hope  for  success  in  an  investigation  of  his 
own  nature  ?  Notwithstanding,  however,  these  sarcasms  against 
human  wisdom,  apparently  drawn  from  the  school  of  Charron, 
the  poet  proceeds  seriously  to  the  subject  of  his  epistle  ;  and 
having  stated  the  two  principles  which  rule  over  Man,  self  love, 
and  reason,  he  goes  on  to  show  the  character  and  office  of  each, 
and  their  opposition  or  concurrence  in  influencing  human  con- 
duct. Self-love  he  calls  the  moving  principle  which  excites  to 
action,  on  which  account  it  is  made  the  strongest ;  reason  is  the 
comparing  and  restraining  principle;  the  objects  of  the  former 
are  some  immediate  good  ;  of  the  latter,  some  remote  or  conse- 
quential good.  Both  have  the  same  general  ends  of  attaining 
pleasure  and  avoiding  pain.  But  surely  this  representation  is 
inaccurate  ;  for  self-love  and  reason  stand  in  no  sort  of  opposi- 
tion to  each  other ;  and  the  second  is  rather  an  instrument  em- 
ployed by  the  first,  the  better  to  effectuate  its  ends,  than  a  dis- 
tinct principle  of  action.  Reason  is  more  properly  opposed  to 
the  passions  ;  which  Pope  justly  terms  modes  of  self-love,  all  hav- 
ing for  their  object  some  real  or  supposed  good.  These,  he  says, 
duly  tempered  and  blended,  give  "  all  the  strength  and  colour  of 
our  life."  Adopting,  however,  the  theory  which  he  has  more 
particularly  opened  in  one  of  his  moral  epistles,  he  asserts  the 
existence  of  a  master  passion,  which  swallows  up  the  rest,  and 
may  be  regarded  as  the  innate  disease  of  the  mind,  from  every 
iaculty  of  which  it  derives  fresh  nourishment.  Yet  instead  of 
attempting  to  eradicate  this  leading  propensity,  he  advises  to 
follow  "  nature's  road,"  and  content  ourselves  with  keeping  it  in 
proper  bounds  ;  for  our  passions,  and  even  vices,  by  means  of 
due  culture,  are  convertible  infcj  ||«;c.st  virtues.  The  poet 
here  admits  that  notion  of  the  ^ilists,  which  supposes 

the  limits  of  virtu^nd  vict-  i«  Jin  such  a  manner,  as 

to  render  it  imjrf  ds  and  the 

gins;  or  rattfl  Hnakes  I  only  the  i 

some   virtue.  •  At   ruli  >vhkh  i>   ii 

stances  our  leB  I  is.  in  I   ;xling  v 

every  Man.  is  •  1:1  ee.    H< 


POPE.  239 

with  showing  how,  in  the  scheme  of  Providence,  the  different 
passions,  propensities,  follies  and  defects  of  Men,  are  all  made 
to  conspire  to  the  general  good — how  the  ties  of  mutual  aid  and 
interest  are  by  their  means  drawn  more  closely — and  how  at 
length  they  reconcile  Man  to  the  loss  of  a  being  so  full  of  im- 
perfection. Finally,  he  enumerates  the  various  kinds  of  happi- 
ness arising  from  the  variety  of  Men's  tempers  and  pursuits,  and 
from  the  changes  of  object  that  accompany  the  different  stages 
of  life  in  each  individual ;  and  his  inference  from  the  whole  mat- 
ter is,  that  "  though  Man  is  a  fool,  God  is  wise."  This  book  is 
not  remarkable  for  its  poetical  beauties.  Its  language  is  mostly 
that  of  argument  and  simple  illustration,  and  the  subject  is  pur- 
sued with  scarcely  any  digression.  Some  of  the  concluding 
lines,  however,  are  eminently  beautiful ;  yet  it  is  not  easy  to  say 
what  moral  effect  the  author  meant  to  produce  by  them.  If 
Man's  folly  is  equally  conspicuous  in  all  he  does;  if  his  weak- 
nesses are  made  the  instruments  of  his  happiness  ;  if  "in  folly's 
cup  still  laughs  the  bubble  joy,"  and  "not  a  vanity  was  given  in 
vain,"  it  would  seem  very  fruitless  to  attempt  by  artificial  wis- 
dom te  correct  the  designed  and  inherent  defects  of  our  nature. 
The  third  epistle  begins  by  assuming,  as  the  result  of  what  has 
preceded,  "  that  the  Deity  acts  to  one  end,  though  by  various 
laws  :"  in  other  words,  his  aim  is  the  production  of  general  good, 
but  by  different,  and  sometimes  apparently  opposite,  means ;  of 
which,  instances  have  been  given  in  the  various  passions  and  pro- 
pensities of  Mankind.  The  author  next,  in  the  superior  strain 
of  poetry,  resumes  a  former  topic,  and  shows  how  all  the  parts  of 
nature,  by  a/i  universal  chain  of  connection,  contribute  to  the 
advantage  of  ea?h  other,  and  of  the  whole.  He  again,  likewise, 
by  various  striking  examples,  aims  at  mortifying  that  pride  of 
Man  which  induces  him  to  regard  the  whole  creation  as  made  for 
his  sake  alone ;  and  he  exhibits  the  benefits  which  even  the  ani- 
mals subjected  to  human  dominion  are  made  to  derive  from  it, 
These  reflections  lead  him  to  mark  the  limits  between  reason 
;t;  and  in  various  beautiful  instances  he  exemplifies 
m  of  the  latter  principle,  always  exactly  adapted  to 
|hing  further.  In  Man,  as  in  other  animals, 
instinct,  is  the  origin  of  the  conjugal  and 
|n  ;  but  in  the  human  creature,  reason  takes 
>longs  the  union  thus  formed,  and  carries 
tion  of  all  the  charities  of  life.  Hence  the 


238  POPE. 

of  mankind,'5  namely,  themselves ;  yet  it  cannot  be  said  that  1he 
bold  contrast  drawn  between  the  powers  of  the  human  minds  on 
the  one  part,  and  its  weakness  on  the  other,  is  highly  encouraging. 
If  Newton,  with  the  wonderful  reach  of  his  intellectual  faculties, 
were  unable  to  "  describe  or  fix  one  movement  of  his  mind," 
\vhat  other  man  may  hope  for  success  in  an  investigation  of  his 
own  nature  ?  Notwithstanding,  however,  these  sarcasms  against 
human  wisdom,  apparently  drawn  from  the  school  of  Charron, 
the  poet  proceeds  seriously  to  the  subject  of  his  epistle  ;  and 
having  stated  the  two  principles  which  rule  over  Man,  self  love 
and  reason,  he  goes  on  to  show  the  character  and  office  of  each, 
and  their  opposition  or  concurrence  in  influencing  human  con- 
duct. Self-love  he  calls  the  moving  principle  which  excites  to 
action,  on  which  account  it  is  made  the  strongest ;  reason  is  the 
comparing  and  restraining  principle;  the  objects  of  the  former 
are  some  immediate  good  ;  of  the  latter,  some  remote  or  conse- 
quential good.  Both  have  the  same  general  ends  of  attaining 
pleasure  and  avoiding  pain.  But  surely  this  representation  is 
inaccurate  ;  for  self-love  and  reason  stand  in  no  sort  of  opposi- 
tion to  each  other ;  and  the  second  is  rather  an  instrument  em- 
ployed by  the  first,  the  better  to  effectuate  its  ends,  than  a  dis- 
tinct principle  of  action.  Reason  is  more  properly  opposed  to 
the  passions  ;  which  Pope  justly  terms  modes  of  self-love,  all  hav- 
ing for  their  object  some  real  or  supposed  good.  These,  he  says, 
duly  tempered  and  blended,  give  "  all  the  strength  and  colour  of 
our  life."  Adopting,  however,  the  theory  which  he  has  more 
particularly  opened  in  one  of  his  moral  epistles,  he  asserts  the 
existence  of  a  master  passion,  which  swallows  up  the  rest,  and 
may  be  regarded  as  the  innate  disease  of  the  mind,  from  every 
Jaculty  of  which  it  derives  fresh  nourishment.  Yet  instead  of 
attempting  to  eradicate  this  leading  propensity,  he  advises  to 
follow  "  nature's  road,"  and  content  ourselves  with  keeping  it  in 
proper  bounds  ;  for  our  passions,  and  even  vices,  by  means  of 
due  culture,  are  convertible  into  our  surest  virtues.  The  poet 
here  admits  that  notion  of  the  ancient  moralists,  which  supposes 
the  limits  of  virtue  and  vice  to  be  blended  in  such  a  manner,  as 
to  render  it  impossible  to  say  where  one  ends  and  the  other  be- 
gins ;  or  rather,  which  makes  every  vice  only  the  extreme  of 
some  virtue.  Thus,  that  ruling  passion  which  is  in  some  in- 
stances our  leading  vice,  is  in  others  our  leading  virtue ;  and 
every  Man  is  both  virtuous  and  vicious  in  degree.  He  concludes 


POPE.  £39 

with  showing  how,  in  the  scheme  of  Providence,  the  different 
passions,  propensities,  follies  and  defects  of  Men,  are  all  made 
to  conspire  to  the  general  good — how  the  ties  of  mutual  aid  and 
interest  are  by  their  means  drawn  more  closely — and  how  at 
length  they  reconcile  Man  to  the  loss  of  a  being  so  full  of  im- 
perfection. Finally,  he  enumerates  the  various  kinds  of  happi- 
ness arising  from  the  variety  of  Men's  tempers  and  pursuits,  and 
from  the  changes  of  object  that  accompany  the  different  stages 
of  life  in  each  individual ;  and  his  inference  from  the  whole  mat- 
ter is,  that  "  though  Man  is  a  fool,  God  is  wise.'*  This  book  is 
not  remarkable  for  its  poetical  beauties.  Its  language  is  mostly 
that  of  argument  and  simple  illustration,  and  the  subject  is  pur- 
sued with  scarcely  any  digression.  Some  of  the  concluding 
lines,  however,  are  eminently  beautiful ;  yet  it  is  not  easy  to  say 
what  moral  effect  the  author  meant  to  produce  by  them.  If 
Man's  folly  is  equally  conspicuous  in  all  he  does ;  if  his  weak- 
nesses are  made  the  instruments  of  his  happiness  ;  if  "in  folly's 
cup  still  laughs  the  bubble  joy,"  and  "not  a  vanity  was  given  in 
vain,"  it  would  seem  very  fruitless  to  attempt  by  artificial  wis- 
dom te  correct  the  designed  and  inherent  defects  of  our  nature. 
The  third  epistle  begins  by  assuming,  as  the  result  of  what  has 
preceded,  "  that  the  Deity  acts  to  one  end,  though  by  various 
laws  :"  in  other  words,  his  aim  is  the  production  of  general  good, 
but  by  different,  and  sometimes  apparently  opposite,  means;  of 
which,  instances  have  been  given  in  the  various  passions  and  pro- 
pensities of  Mankind.  The  author  next,  in  the  superior  strain 
of  poetry,  resumes  a  former  topic,  and  shows  how  all  the  parts  of 
nature,  by  a/i  universal  chain  of  connection,  contribute  to  the 
advantage  of  eafh  other,  and  of  the  whole.  He  again,  likewise, 
by  various  striking  examples,  aims  at  mortifying  that  pride  of 
Man  which  induces  him  to  regard  the  whole  creation  as  made  for 
his  sake  alone ;  and  he  exhibits  the  benefits  which  even  the  ani- 
mals subjected  to  human  dominion  are  made  to  derive  from  it. 
These  reflections  lead  him  to  mark  the  limits  between  reason 
and  instinct;  and  in  various  beautiful  instances  he  exemplifies 
the  operation  of  the  latter  principle,  always  exactly  adapted  to 
its  purpose,  and  to  nothing  further.  In  Man,  as  in  other  animals, 
self-love,  modified  by  instinct,  is  the  origin  of  the  conjugal  and 
the  parental  connection  ;  but  in  the  human  creature,  reason  takes 
up,  improves,  and  prolongs  the  union  thus  formed,  and  carries 
it  on  to  be  the  foundation  of  all  the  charities  of  life.  Hence  the 


240  POPE. 

poet  takes  occasion  to  fall  into  a  description  of  the  earliest  ages 
of  Man,  when  he  was  yet  in  the  state  of  nature,  which  he  paints 
in  all  the  pleasing  colours  usually  appropriated  to  the  golden 
age,  and  especially  characterises  by  that  kind  of  fellowship  with 
the  beasts  which  made  them  "joint  tenants  of  the  shade,"  and 
forbad  the  slaughtering  of  animals  for  food  or  sacrifice.  The 
next  stage  was  that  in  which  art  gradually  arose,  the  first  efforts 
of  which  are  attributed  to  imitation  of  the  instinctive  manners 
and  actions  of  brutes.  These  ideas  of  the  author  will  probably 
appear  rather  poetical  than  philosophical,  and  confirmed  neither 
by  history  nor  analogy.  He  speculates  with  more  probability 
when  he  proceeds  to  the  rise  of  societies  and  governments  ;  when 
he  describes  the  progress  from  patriarchs  to  kings,  and  displays 
the  origin  of  a  pure  and  simple  theism,  deduced  either  from  rea- 
son or  tradition,  and  which  represented  the  Deity  as  an  object 
of  love,  not  of  fear.  This  happy  state  of  things  was  at  length 
subverted  by  force,  which  introduced  the  law  of  tyrants  and  sup- 
ported itself  by  a  league  formed  with  that  superstition  which  now 
began  to  take  place  of  primitive  religion.  The  origin  and  effects 
of  this  debasing  principle  are  described  by  Pope  with  all  the 
poetic  fire  of  Lucretius,  directed  and  concentrated  by  his  own 
nervous  sense.  He  then  shows,  how  the  same  self-love  which 
nourishes  the  inordinate  lust  of  power  in  an  individual,  operates 
on  the  general  body,  to  check  and  control  it.  Thus  are  formed 
those  generous  spirits  who  employ  themselves  in  endeavours  to 
instruct  and  enlighten  mankind  ;  and  in  this  manner  the  jarring 
interests  of  individuals  unite  to  produce  the  harmony  of  the 
whole.  The  conclusion  is,  that  in  the  comprehena||e  scheme  of 
Providence,  self-love  and  the  social  principle  ar^  the  same.  This 
book  is  highly  poetical.  Dwelling  more  upon  illustration  than 
reasoning,  it  has  drawn  from  a  variety  of  sources  pictures  of 
beauty  and  sublimity,  coloured  with  all  the  splendour  of  language 
proper  to  the  author.  Its  sentiments,  too,  are  elevated  and 
generous;  and  though  the  accuracy  of  some  may  be  disputed, 
the  effect  of  the  whole  is  in  unison  with  the  best  feelings  of  the 
heart. 

The  fourth  epistle  opens  with  an  eloquent  address  to  happi- 
ness, the  search  after  which  is  its  interesting  subject.  The  poet, 
after  finding  that  happiness  is  fixed  to  no  one  spot  or  condition 
of  life,  soon  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  it  belongs  equally  to 
all.  He  finds,  too,  that  a  man  cannot  be  made  happy  without 


POPE.  241 

the  participation  of  others;  and  therefore,  "happiness  subsists 
not  in  the  good  of  one,  but  of  all."  Ordeiv"  Heaven's  first  law," 
has  made  differences  of  rank  and  endowments  among  mankind 
necessary  ;  but  it  does  not  thence  follow  that  there  must  be  the 
same  inequality  in  point  of  happiness.  The  essential  goods  of 
life  are  all  included  in  "health,  peace,  and  competence,"  of 
which  the  two  former  consist  with  virtue  alone.  The  gifts  of 
fortune  belong  equally  to  the  good  and  bad,  but  the  former  are 
best  qualified  to  enjoy  them.  These  positions  lead  the  author 
to  a  very  feeling  eulogy  on  virtue,  the  influence  of  which  in  be- 
stowing bliss  is  such,  that  there  was  no  necessity  #  exempting 
the  good  man  from  the  common  ills  of  life,  or  of  elevating  him 
to  a  superiority  of  condition.  This  strain  of  reasoning  is  suc- 
ceeded by  a  splendid  amplification  of  the  philosophical  doctrine, 
that  honour  and  shame  arise  from  no  particular  station,  but  that 
all  true  glory  proceeds  from  well  filling  the  allotted  part,  what- 
ever it  may  be.  The  poet  pursues  difference  of  fortune  through 
all  the  circumstances  of  title,  birth,  rank,  fame,  and  parts ;  and 
proves,  by  a  variety  of  illustrious  examples,  how  insufficient 
without  virtue  are  advantages  in  all  these  respects  to  secure  fe- 
licity. Concluding  these  illustrations  with  the  fundamental 
truth,  that  "  virtue  alone  is  happiness  below,"  he  recurs  to  his 
former  doctrine  of  the  conversion  of  self-love  to  social ;  and  he 
deduces  the  principle  of  universal  benevolence  from  the  progress 
to  be  traced  in  the  mind  of  the  virtuous  man  through  the  seve- 
ral stages  and  degrees  of  partial  affection.  With  this,  he  unites 
the  hope  of  renovated  happiness  in  a  future  state  ;  and  thus  com- 
pletes the  scale  of  man's  supreme  felicity,  as  connected  with  the 
greatest  elevation  of  virtue  A  most  finished  and  beautiful  apos- 
trophe to  his  "guide,  philosopher,  and  friend,5'  with  a  brief  sum- 
mary of  the  topics  of  the  several  epistles,  terminates  the  poem. 

From  the  preceding  analysis  of  the  Essay  on  Man,  the  reader 
will  probably  find  himself  at  a  loss  to  deduce  that  exquisite  chain 
of  argumentation,  that  lucid  method,  which  are  with  so  much 
evident  labour  attempted  to  be  traced  out  by  the  Right  Reve- 
rend commentator.  He  will  rather  discern  a  writer,  made  a  sys- 
tem-builder by  accident,  but  a  poet  by  nature,  taking  up  a  grand 
and  copious  topic,  well  adapted  in  parts  for  the  display  of  his 
genius,  but  as  a  whole  belonging  to  a  very  different  class  of  com- 
posers. He  will  see  him  exhibiting  a  great  variety  of  powers  ac- 
cording to  the  exigencies  of  his  subject;  sometimes  close,  con- 
Hh 


242  POPE. 

cise,  nervous,  and  sententious;  sometimes  copious,  expansive., 
and  brilliant ; — now  enchanting  by  elegance  and  beauty,  no\v 
commanding  by  dignity  and  sublimity.  The  work  itself  he  will 
probably  esteem  as  one  of  the  noblest  productions,  not  only  of 
its  author,  but  of  English  poetry ;  and  amidst  all  its  defects,  he 
will  rejoice  that  the  writer  was  induced  to  exercise  his  talents 
in  a  walk  so  new,  and  in  many  respects  so  well  suited  to  them. 
In  fine,  if  he  does  not  choose  to  derive.his  ethical  system  from  the 
Essay  on  Man,  he  will  again  and  again  have  recourse  to  it  as  a 
storehouse  of  great  and  generous  sentiments ;  arid  he  will  never 
rise  from  its  perusal  without  feeling  his  mind  animated  with  the 
love  of  virtue,  and  improved  in  benevolence  towards  his  fellow 
creatures,  and  piety  towards  his  Creator. 


AN  ESSAY 

ON  THE 

PLAN  AND  CHARACTER 


OF 


WHEN  a  work  of  art  to  masterly  execution  adds  novelty  of 
design,  it  demands  not  only  a  cursory  admiration,  but  such  a 
mature  inquiry  into  the  principles  upon  which  it  has  been  formed, 
as  may  determine  how  far  it  deserves  to  be  received  as  a  model 
for  future  attempts  in  the  same  walk.  Originals  are  always  rare 
productions.  The  performances  of  artists  in  general,  even  of 
those  who  stand  high  in  their  respective  classes,  are  only  imita- 
tions ;  which  have  more  or  less  merit,  in  proportion  to  the  degree 
of  skill  and  judgment  with  which  they  copy  originals  more  or  less 
excellent.  A  good  original,  therefore,  forms  an  aera  in  the  art 
itself;  and  the  history  of  every  art  divides  itself  into  periods 
comprehending  the  intervals  between  the  appearance  of  different 
approved  originals.  Sometimes,  indeed,  various  models  of  a 
very  different  cast  may  exercise  the  talents  of  imitators  during 
a  single  period  ;  and  this  will  more  frequently  be  the  case,  as 
arts  become  more  generally  known  and  studied;  difference  of 
taste  being  always  the  result  of  liberal  and  varied  pursuit. 

How  strongly  these  periods  are  marked  in  the  history  of  Poe- 
try, both  ancient  and  modern,  a  cursory  view  will  suffice  to  show. 
The  scarcity  of  originals  here  is  universally  acknowledged  and 
lamented,  and  the  present  race  of  poets  are  thought  particularly 
chargeable  with  this  defect.  It  ought,  however,  to  be  allowed  in 
their  favour,  that  if  genius  has  declined,  taste  has  improved;  and 
that  if  they  imitate  more,  they  choose  better  models  to  copy  after. 

That  THOMSON'S  SEASONS  is  the  original  whence  our  modern 
descriptive  poets  have  derived  that  more  elegant  and  correct  style 


.244  THOMSON. 

of  painting  natural  objects  which  distinguishes  them  from  their 
immediate  predecessors,  will,  1  think,  appear  evident  to  one  wh<* 
examines  their  several  casts  and  manners.  That  none  of  them, 
however,  have  jet  equalled  their  master ;  and  that  his  perform- 
ance is  an  exquisite  piece,  replete  with  beauties  of  the  most  en- 
gaging and  delightful  kind  ;  will  be  sensibly  felt  by  all  of  con- 
genial taste : — and  perhaps  no  poem  was  ever  composed  which 
addressed  itself  to  the  feelings  of  a  greater  number  of  readers. 
It  is,  therefore,  on  every  account  an  object  well  worthy  the  at- 
tention of  criticism  ;  and  an  inquiry  into  the  peculiar  nature  of 
its  plan  and  the  manner  of  its  execution  may  be  an  agreeable  in- 
troduction to  a  re-perusal  of  it  in  the  elegant  edition  now  offer- 
ed to  the  public. 

The  description  of  such  natural  objects  as  by  their  beauty* 
grandeur,  or  novelty,  agreeably  impress  the  imagination,  has,  at 
all  times,  been  a  principal  and  favourite  occupation  of  Poetry. 
Various  have  been  the  methods  in  which  such  descriptions 
have  been  introduced.  They  have  been  made  subservient 
to  ,|he  purposes  of  ornament  and  illustration,  in  the  more 
elevated  and  abstracted  kinds  of  Poetry,  by  being  used  as 
objects  of  similitude.  They  have  constituted  a  pleasing  and 
necessary  part  of  epic  narration,  when  employed  in  forming 
a  scenery  suitable  to  the  events.  The  simple  tale  of  pasto- 
ral life  could  scarcely  without  their  aid  be  rendered  in  any 
degree  interesting.  The  precepts  of  an  art,  and  the  systems  of 
philosophers,  depend  upon  the  adventitious  ornaments  afforded 
by  them  for  almost  every  thing  which  can  render  them  fit  sub- 
jects for  poetry. 

Thus  intermixed  as  they  arc  with  almost  all,  and  essential  to 
some  species  of  poetry,  it  was  however  thought  that  they  could 
not  legitimately  constitute  the  whole,  or  even  the  principal  part, 
of  a  capital  piece.  Something  of  a  more  solid  nature  was  re- 
quired as  the  ground-work  of  a  poetical  fabric;  pure  description 
was  opposed  to  seme;  and  binding  together  the  wild  flowers 
which  grew  obvious  to  common  sight  and  touch,  was  deemed  a 
trifling  and  unprofitable  amusement. 

Such  was  the  state  of  critical  opinion,  when  Thomson  publish- 
ed, in  succession,  but  not  in  their  present  order,*  the  pieces  which 
compose  his  Seasons;  the  first  capital  work  in  which  natural  de- 


*  They  appeared  in  the  following  order :   Winter,  Summer,  Spring,  Autumn. 


THOMSON.  245 

scription  was  professedly  the  principal  object.  To  paint  the 
face  of  nature  as  changing  through  the  changing  seasons  ;  to 
mark  the  approaches  and  trace  the  progress  of  these  vicissi- 
tudes, in  a  series  of  landscapes  all  formed  upon  images  of  gran- 
deur or  beauty;  and  to  give  animation  and  variety  to 'the  whole 
by  interspersing  manners  and  incidents  suitable  to  the  scenery; 
appears  to  be  the  general  design  of  this  poem.  Essentially  dif- 
ferent from  a  didactic  piece,  its  business  is  to  describe,  and  the 
occupation  of  its  leisure  to  teach.  And  as  in  the  Georgics,  when- 
ever the  poet  has  for  a  while,  borne  away  by  the  warmth  of  fancy, 
wandered  through  the  flowery  wilds  of  description,  he  suddenly 
checks  himself,  and  returns  to  the  toils  of  the  husbandman ;  so 
Thomson,  in  the  midst  of  his  delightful  lessons  of  morality,  and 
affecting  relations,  recurs  to  a  view  of  that  state  of  the  season 
which  introduced  the  digression. 

It  is  an  attention  to  this  leading  idea,  that  in  this  piece  there 
is  a  progressive  series  of  descriptions,  all  tending  to  a  certain 
point,  and  all  parts  of  a  general  plan,  which  alone  can  enable  us 
to  range  through  the  vast  variety  and  quick  succession  of  objects 
presented  in  it,  with  any  clear  conception  of  the  writer's  method^ 
or  true  judgment  concerning  what  may  be  regarded  as  forward- 
ing his  main  purpose,  or  as  merely  ornamental  deviation.  The 
particular  elucidation  of  this  point  will  constitute  the  principal 
part  of  the  present  Essay. 

Although  each  of  the  Seasons  appears  to  have  been  intended 
as  a  complete  piece,  and  contains  within  itself  the  natural  order 
of  beginning,  middle,  and  termination,  yet,  as  they  were  at  length 
collected  and  modelled  by  their  author,  they  have  all  a  mutual 
relation  to  each  other,  and  concur  in  forming  a  more  comprehen- 
sive whole.  The  annual  space  in  which  the  earth  performs  its 
revolution  round  the  sun  is  so  strongly  marked  by  nature  for  a 
perfect  period,  that  all  mankind  have  agreed  in  forming  their 
computations  of  time  upon  it.  In  all  the  temperate  climates  of 
the  globe,  the  four  seasons  are  so  many  progressive  stages  in 
this  circuit,  which,  like  the  acts  in  a  well  constructed  drama, 
gradually  disclose,  ripen,  and  bring  to  an  end  the  various  busi- 
siness  transacted  on  the  great  theatre  of  nature.  The  striking 
analogy  which  this  period  with  its  several  divisions  bears  to  the 
course  of  human  existence,  has  been  remarked  and  pursued  by 
writers  of  all  ages  and  countries.  Spring  has  been  represented 
as  the  youth  of  the  year — the  season  of  pleasing  hope,  lively  en 


246  THOMSON. 

ergy,  and  rapid  increase.  Summer  has  been  resembled  to 
perfect  manhood— the  season  of  steady  warmth,  confirmed 
strength}  and  unremitting  vigour.  Autumn,  which,  while  it  be- 
stows the  rich  products  of  full  maturity,  is  yet  ever  hastening  to 
decline,  has  been  aptly  compared  to  that  period,  when  the  man, 
mellowed  by  age,  yields  the  most  valuable  fruits  of  experience 
and  wisdom,  but  daily  exhibits  increasing  symptoms  of  decay. 
The  cold,  cheerless,  and  sluggish  Winter  has  almost  without  a 
metaphor  been  termed  the  decrepit  and  hoary  old  age  of  the 
year.  Thus  the  history  of  the  year,  pursued  through  its  chang- 
ing seasons,  is  that  of  an  individual,  whose  existence  is  marked 
by  a  progressive  course  from  its  origin  to  its  termination.  It  is 
thus  represented  by  our  poet :  this  idea  preserves  an  unity  and 
connection  through  his  whole  work ;  and  the  accurate  observer 
will  remark  a  beautiful  chain  of  circumstances  in  his  description, 
by  which  the  birth,  vigour,  decline,  and  extinction  of  the  vital 
principle  of  the  year  are  pictured  in  the  most  lively  manner. 

This  order  and  gradation  of  the  whole  runs,  as  has  been  al- 
ready hinted,  through  each  division  of  the  poem.  Every  season 
has  its  incipient,  confirmed,  and  receding  state,  of  which  its  his- 
torian ought  to  give  distinct  views,  arranged  according  to  the 
succession  in  which  they  appear.  Each,  too,  like  the  prismatic 
colours,  is  indistinguishably  blended  in  its  origin  and  termina- 
tion with  that  which  precedes  and  which  follows  it;  and  it  may 
be  expected  from  the  pencil  of  an  artist  to  hit  off  these  mingled 
shades  so  as  to  produce  a  pleasing  and  picturesque  effect.  Our 
poet  has  not  been  inattentive  to  these  circumstances  in  the  con- 
duct of  his  plan.  His  Spring  begins  with  a  view  of  the  season 
as  yet  unconfirmed,  and  partaking  of  the  roughness  of  Winter  ;* 
and  it  is  not  till  after  several  steps  in  gradual  progression,  that 
it  breaks  forth  in  all  its  ornaments,  as  the  favourite  of  Love  and 
Pleasure.  His  Jlntumn,  after  a  rich  prospect  of  its  bounties  and 
splendours,  gently  fades  into  "the  sere,  the  yellow  leaf,"  and 
with  the  lengthened  night,  the  clouded  sun,  and  the  rising  storm, 
.sinks  into  the  arms  of  Winter.  It  is  remarkable,  that  in  order 
to  produce  something  of  a  similar  effect  in  his  Summer,  a  season 
which,  on  account  of  its  uniformity  of  character,  does  not  admit 


*  A  descriptive  piece,  in  which  this  very  inN-rval  of  time  is  represented,  with  all 
{lie  accuracy  of  a  naturalist,  and  vi\id  colouring  of  a  poet,  has  lately  appeared  in  ?. 
poem  of  Mr.  \\  niton's,  emitted  The  first  ofj/iril. 


THOMSON.  247 

of  any  strongly  marked  gradations,  he  has  comprised  the  whole 
of  his  description  within  the  limits  of  a  single  day,  pursuing 
the  course  of  the  sun  from  its  rising  to  its  setting.  A  Summer's 
day  is,  in  reality,  a  just  model  of  the  entire  season.  Its  begin- 
ning is  moist  and  temperate ;  its  middle,  sultry  and  parching ; 
its  close,  soft  and  refreshing.  By  thus  exhibiting  all  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  Summer  under  one  point  of  view,  they  are  rendered 
much  more  striking  than  could  have  been  done  in  a  series  of 
feebly  contrasted  and  scarcely  distinguishable  periods. 

With  this  idea  of  the  general  plan  of  the  whole  work,  and  of 
its  several  parts,  we  proceed  to  take  a  view  of  the  various  sub- 
jects composing  the  descriptive  series  of  which  it  principally 
consists. 

Every  grand  and  beautiful  appearance  in  nature,  that  distin 
guishes  one  portion  of  the  annual  circuit  from  another,  is  a  pro- 
per source  of  materials  for  the  poet  of  the  Seasons.  Of  theses 
some  are  obvious  to  the  common  observer,  and  require  only  just- 
ness and  elegance  of  taste  for  the  selection  :  others  discover 
themselves  only  to  the  mind  opened  and  enlarged  by  science 
and  philosophy.  All  the  knowledge  we  acquire  concerning  natu- 
ral objects  by  such  a  train  of  observation  and  reasoning  as  merits 
the  appellation  of  science,  is  comprehended  under  the  two  di- 
visions of  Natural  Philosophy  and  Natural  History.  Both  oi 
these  may  be  employed  to  advantage  in  descriptive  poetry :  for 
although  it  be  true,  that  poetical  composition,  being  rather  cal- 
culated for  amusement  than  instruction,  and  addressing  itself  to 
the  many  who  feel,  rather  than  to  the  few  who  reason,  is  impro- 
perly occupied  about  the  abstruse  and  argumentative  parts  of  a 
science  ;  yet,  to  reject  those  grand  and  beautiful  ideas  which  a 
philosophical  view  of  nature  offers  to  the  mind,  merely  because 
they  are  above  the  comprehension  of  vulgar  readers,  is  surely  an 
unnecessary  degradation  of  this  noble  art.  Still  more  narrow 
and  unreasonable  is  that  critical  precept,  which,  in  conformity 
to  the  received  notion  that  fiction  is  the  soul  of  poetry,  obliges 
the  poet  to  adopt  ancient  errors  in  preference  to  modern  truths; 
and  this  even  where  truth  has  the  advantage  in  point  of  poetical 
effect.  In  fact,  modern  philosophy  is  as  much  superior  to  the 
ancient  in  sublimity  as  in  solidity;  and  the  most  vivid  imagina- 
tion cannot  paint  to  itself  scenes  of  grandeur  equal  to  those 
which  cool  science  and  demonstration  offer  to  the  enlightened 
mind.  Objects  so  vast  and  magnificent  as  planets  rolling  with 


248  THOMSON. 

even  pace  through  their  orbits,  comets  rushing  along;  their  de- 
vious track,  light  springing  from  its  unexhausted  source,  mighty 
rivers  formed  in  their  subterranean  beds,  do  not  require  or  even 
admit,  a  heightening  from  the  fancy.  The  most  faithful  pencil 
here  produces  the  noblest  pictures  ;  and  Thomson,  by  strictly 
adhering  to  the  character  of  the  poet  of  nature,  has  treated  all 
these  topics  with  a  true  sublimity,  which  a  writer  of  less  know- 
ledge and  accuracy  could  never  have  attained.  The  strict  nro- 
priety  with  which  subjects  from  Astronomy  and  the  other  pa»'ts 
of  Natural  Philosophy  are  introduced  into  a  poem  describing 
the  changes  of  the  Seasons,  need  not  be  insisted  on,  since  it  is 
obvious  that  the  primary  cause  of  all  these  changes  is  to  be  sought 
in  principles  derived  from  these  sciences.  They  are  the  ground 
work  of  the  whole  ;  and  establish  that  connected  series  of  cause 
and  effect,  upon  which  all  those  appearances  in  nature  depend, 
from  whence  the  descriptive  poet  draws  his  materials. 

Natural  History,  in  its  most  extensive  signification,  includes 
every  observation  relative  to  the  distinctions,  resemblances,  and 
changes  of  all  the  bodies,  both  animate  and  inanimate,  which 
nature  offers  to  us.  These  observations,  however,  deserve  to  be 
considered  as  part  of  a  science  only  when  they  refer  to  some 
general  truth,  and  form  a  link  of  that  vast  chain  which  connects 
all  created  being  in  one  grand  system.  It  was  my  attempt  in 
an  Essay  lately  published,*  to  show  how  necessary  a  more  accu- 
rate and  scientific  survey  of  natural  objects  than  has  usually  been 
taken,  was  to  the  avoiding  the  common  defects,  and  attaining 
the  highest  beauties,  of  descriptive  poetry  ;  and  some  of  the  most 
striking  examples  of  excellence  arising  from  this  source  were 
extracted  from  the  poem  now  before  us.  It  will  be  unnecessary 
here  to  recapitulate  the  substance  of  these  remarks,  or  to  mark 
out  singly  the  several  passages  of  our  author  which  display  his 
talents  for  description  to  the  greatest  advantage.  Our  present 
design  rather  requires  such  a  general  view  of  the  materials  he  has 
collected,  and  the  method  in  which  he  has  arranged  them,  as 
may  show  in  what  degree  they  forward  and  coincide  with  the 
plan  of  his  work. 

The  correspondence  between  certain  changes  in  the  animal 
and  vegetable  tribes,  and  those  revolutions  of  the  heavenly  bo- 


.  •  Essay  on  the  Application  of -Natural  History  to  Poetry. 


THOMSON.  249 

dies  which  produce  the  vicissitudes  of  the  Seasons,  is  the  foun- 
dation of  an  alliance  between  Astronomy  and  Natural  History* 
th:it  equally  demands  attention  as  a  matter  of  curious  specula- 
ticii,  and  of  practical  utility.  The  astronomical  calendar,  filled 
up  by  the  naturalist,  is  a  combination  of  science  at  the  same 
tim*1  pregnant  with  important  instruction  to  the  husbandman,  and 
ferv.ile  in  grand  and  pleasing  objects  to  the  poet  and  philosopher. 
Thomson  seems  constantly  to  have  kept  in  view  a  combination 
of  this  kind  ;  and  to  have  formed  from  it  such  an  idea  of  the 
oeconomy  of  nature,  as  enabled  him  to  preserve  a  regularity  of 
method  and  uniformity  of  design  through  all  the  variety  of  his 
descriptions.  We  shall  attempt  to  draw  out  a  kind  of  historical 
narrative  of  his  progress  through  the  Seasons,  as  far  as  this  order 
is  observable. 

Spring  is  characterised  as  the  season  of  the  renovation  of  na- 
ture ;  in  which  animals  and  vegetables,  excited  by  the   kindly 
influence  of  returning  warmth,  shake  off  the  torpid  inaction  of 
Winter,  and  prepare  for  the  continuance  and  increase  of  their 
several  species.     The  vegetable  tribes,  as  more  independent  and 
self  provided,  lead  the  way  in  this  progress.     The  poet,  accord- 
ingly, begins  with  representing  the  reviviscerit  plants  emerging, 
as  soon  as  genial  showers  have  softened  the  ground,  in  numbers 
"  beyond  the  power  of  botanist  to  reckon  up  their  tribes."     The 
opening  blossoms  and  flowers  soon  call  forth  from  their  winter 
retreats  those  industrious  insects  which  derive  sustenance  from 
their  nectareous  juices.*    As  the  beams  of  the  sun  become  more 
potent,  the   larger  vegetables,  shrubs  and   trees,   unfold    their 
leaves  ;  and  as  soon  as  a  friendly  concealment  is  by  their  means 
provided  for  the  various  nations  of  the  feathered  race,  they  joy- 
fully begin  the  course   of  laborious   but   pleasing  occupations 
which  are  to  engage  them  during  the  whole  season.     The  de- 
lightful series  of  pictures,  so  truly  expressive  of  that  genial  spirit 
that  pervades  the  Spring,  which  Thomson  has  formed  on  the  va- 
riety of  circumstances  attending  the  passion  of  the  groves,  can- 
not escape  the  notice  and  admiration  of  the  most  negligent  eye. 
Affected  by  the  same  soft  influence,  arid  equally  indebted  to  the 
renewed  vegetable  tribes  for  food  and  shelter,  the  several  kinds 
of  quadrupeds  are  represented  as  concurring  in  the  celebration 
of  this  charming  Season  with  conjugal  and  parental  rites.   Even 
man  himself,  though  from  his  social  condition  less  under  the  do- 
minion of  physical  necessities,  is  properly  described  as  partak- 
Ti 


250  THOMSON. 

ing  of  the  general  ardour.  Such  is  the  order  and  connection  of 
this  whole  book,  that  it  might  well  pass  for  a  commentary  upon 
a  most  beautiful  passage  in  the  philosophical  poet  Lucretius  > 
who  certainly  wanted  nothing  but  a  better  system  and  more  cir- 
cumscribed subject,  to  have  appeared  as  one  of  the  greatest  mas- 
ters of  description  in  either  ancient  or  modern  poetry.  Reason- 
ing on  the  unperishable  nature,  and  perpetual  circulation,  of  the 
particles  of  matter,  he  deduces  all  the  delightful  appearances  of 
Spring  from  the  seeds  of  fertility  which  descend  in  the  vernal 
showers. 

pereunt  imbres,  ubi  eos  pater  JEther 

In  grernium  matris  Terrai  prsecipitavit. 
At  nitidse  surgunt  truges,  rarnique  virescunt 
Arboribus;  crescunt  ips<e,  foetuque  gravantur  : 
Hinc  alitur  porro  nostrum  genus  atque  ferarum: 
Hinc  Itstas  urbeis  pueris  florere  videmus, 
Frundiferasque  novis  avibus  canere  undique  sylvas. 
Hinc  fessse  p^cudes  pingues  per  pabula  Iceta 
Corpora  deponunt,  et  candens  lacteus  humor 
Uberibus  manat  dislentis;  bine  nova  proles 
Artt'bus  infirmis  teneras  lasciva  per  herbas 
Ludit,  lacte  mero  menteis  percussa  novellas. 

LUCBET.    lib.  1.251.  &c. 

The  rains  are  lost,  when  Jove  descends  in  showers 
Soft  on  the  bosom  of  the  parent  earth  : 
But  springs  the  shining  grain  ;  their  verdant  robe 
The  trees  resume  ;  they  grow,  and  pregnant  bend 
Beneath  (heir  fertile  load  :  hence  kindly  food 
The  living  tribes  receive  ;  the  cheerful  town. 
Beholds  its  joyous  bands  of  flowering  youth  ; 
With  ne  w-born  songs  the  leafy  groves  resound  ; 
The  full-fed  flocks  amid  the  laughing  meads 
The-ir  weary  bodies  lay,  while  wide  distent 
The  plenteous  udder  teems  with  milky  juice  ; 
And  o'er  the  grass,  as  their  young  hearts  beat  high, 
Swell'd  by  the  pure  and  generous  streams  they  drain, 
Frolic  the  wanton  lambs  with  joints  infirm. 

The  period  of  Summer  is  marked  by  fewer  and  less  striking 
changes  in  the  face  of  Nature.  A  soft  and  pleasing  languor,  in- 
terrupted only  by  the  gradual  progression  of  the  vegetable  and 
animal  tribes  towards  their  state  of  maturity,  forms  the  leading 
character  of  this  season.  The  active  fermentation  of  the  juices, 
which  the  first  access  of  genial  warmth  had  excited,  now  sub- 
sides ;  and  the  increasing  heats  rather  inspire  faintness  and  in- 


THOMSON.  251 

action  than  lively  exertions.  The  insect  race  alone  seem  ani- 
mated with  peculiar  vigour  under  the  more  direct  influence  of 
the  sun ;  and  are  therefore  with  equal  truth  and  advantage  in- 
troduced by  the  poet  to  enliven  the  silent  and  drooping  scenes 
presented  by  the  other  forms  of  animal  nature.  As  this  source, 
however,  together  with  whatever  else  our  summers  afford,  is  in- 
sufficient to  furnish  novelty  and  business  enough  for  this  act  of 
the  drama  of  the  year,  the  poet  judiciously  opens  a  new  field, 
profusely  fertile  in  objects  suited  to  the  glowing  colours  of  de- 
scriptive poetry.  By  an  easy  and  natural  transition,  he  quits  the 
chastised  summer  of  our  temperate  clime  for  those  regions  where 
a  perpetual  summer  reigns,  exalted  by  such  superior  degrees  of 
solar  heat  as  give  an  entirely  new  face  to  almost  every  part  0** 
nature.  The  terrific  grandeur  prevalent  in  some  of  these,  the 
exquisite  richness  and  beauty  in  others,  and  the  novelty  in  all, 
afford  such  a  happy  variety  for  the  poet's  selection,  that  we  need 
not  wonder  if  some  of  his  noblest  pieces  are  the  product  of  this 
delightful  excursion.  He  returns,  however,  with  apparent  satis- 
faction to  take  a  last  survey  of  the  softer  summer  of  our  island  ; 
and  after  closing  the  prospect  of  terrestrial  beauties,  artfully 
shifts  the  scene  to  celestial  splendours,  which,  though  perhaps  not 
more  striking  in  this  season  than  in  some  of  the  others,  are  now 
alone  agreeable  objects  of  contemplation  in  a  northern  climate. 

Autumn  is  too  eventful  a  period  in  the  history  of  the  year 
"within  the  temperate  parts  of  the  globe,  to  require  foreign  aid 
for  rendering  it  more  varied  and  interesting.  The  promise  of 
the  Spring  is  now  fulfilled.  The  silent  and  gradual  process  of 
maturation  is  completed ;  and  human  industry  beholds  with  tri- 
umph the  rich  products  of  its  toil.  The  vegetable  tribes  disclose 
their  infinitely  various  forms  of  fruit ;  which  term,  while,  with 
respect  to  common  use  it  is  confined  to  a  few  peculiar  modes  of 
fructification,  in  the  more  comprehensive  language  of  the  natu- 
ralist includes  every  product  of  vegetation  by  which  the  rudi- 
ments of  a  future  progeny  are  developed,  and  separated  from 
the  parent  plant.  These  are  in  part  collected  and  stored  up  by 
those  animals  for  whose  sustenance  during  the  ensuing  sleep  of 
nature  they  are  provided.  The  rest,  furnished  with  various  con- 
trivances for  dissemination,  are  scattered,  by  the  friendly  winds 
•which  now  begin  to  blow,  over  the  surface  of  that  earth  which 
they  are  to  clothe  and  decorate.  The  young  of  the  animal  race, 
which  Spring  and  Summer  had  brought  forth  and  cherished,  hav- 


•252.  THOMSON. 

ing  now  acquired  sufficient  vigour,  quit  their  concealments,  and 
offer  themselves  to  the  pursuit  of  the  carnivorous  among  their 
fellow-animals,  and  of  the  great  destroyer,  man.  Thus  the  scene- 
ry is  enlivened  with  the  various  sports  of  the  hunter;  which, 
however  repugnant  they  may  appear  to  that  system  of  general 
benevolence  and  sympathy  which  philosophy  would  inculcate, 
have  ever  afforded  a  most  agreeable  exertion  to  the  human 
powers,  and  have  much  to  plead  in  their  favour  as  a  necessary 
part  of  the  great  plan  of  Nature.  Indeed,  she  marks  her  inten- 
tion with  sufficient  precision,  by  refusing  to  grant  any  longer 
those  friendly  shades  which  had  grown  for  the  protection  of  the 
infant  offspring.  The  grove  loses  its  honours  ;  but  before  they 
are  entirely  tarnished,  an  adventitious  beauty,  arising  from  that 
gradual  decay  which  loosens  the  withering  leaf,  gilds  the  au- 
tumnal landscape  with  a  temporary  splendour,  superior  to  the 
verdure  of  Spring,  or  the  luxuriance  of  Summer.  The  infinitely 
various  and  ever-changing  hues  of  the  leaves  at  this  season,  melt- 
ing into  every  soft  gradation  of  tint  and  shade,  have  long  en- 
gaged the  imitation  of  the  painter,  and  are  equally  happy  orna- 
ments in  the  description  of  the  poet. 

These  unvarying  symptoms  of  approaching  Winter  now  warn 
several  of  the  winged  tribes  to  prepare  for  their*  aerial  voyage  to 
those  happy  climates  of  perpetual  summer,  where  no  deficiency 
of  food  or  shelter  can  ever  distress  them ;  and  about  the  same 
time,  other  fowls  of  hardier  constitution,  which  are  contented 
with  escaping  the  iron  winters  of  the  arctic  regions,  arrive  to 
supply  the  vacancy.  Thus  the  striking  scenes  afforded  by  that 
wonderful  part  of  the  O3conomy  of  Nature,  the  migration  of  birds, 
present  themselves  at  this  season  to  the  poet.  The  thickening 
fogs,  the  heavy  rains,  the  swoln  rivers,  while  they  deform  this 
sinking  period  of  the  year,  add  new  subjects  to  the  pleasing  va- 
riety wich  reigns  throughout  its  whole  course,  and  which  justi- 
fies the  poet's  character  of  it,  as  the  season  when  the  Muse  "  best 
exerts  her  voice.'* 

Winter,  directly  opposite  as  it  is  in  other  respects  to  Summer, 
yet  resembles  it  in  this,  that  it  is  a  season  in  which  Nature  is  em- 
ployed rather  in  secretly  preparing  for  the  mighty  changes  which 
it  successively  brings  to  light,  than  in  the  actual  exhibition  of 
them.  It  is  therefore  a  period  equally  barren  of  events  ;  and  has 
still  less  of  animation  than  Summer,  inasmuch  as  lethargic  in- 
sensibility is  a  state  more  distant  from  vital  energy  than  the 


THOMSON. 

languor  of  indolent  repose.  From  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  and  with- 
ering of  the  herb,  an  unvarying  death-like  torpor  oppresses  al- 
most the  whole  vegetable  creation,  and  a  considerable  part  of  the 
animal,  during  this  entire  portion  of  the  year.  The  whole  insect 
race,  which  filled  every  part  ot  the  Summer  landscape  with  life 
and  motion,  are  now  either  buried  in  profound  sleep,  or  actually 
no  longer  exist,  except  in  the  unformed  rudiments  of  a  future 
progeny.  Many  of  the  birds  and  quadrupeds  are  retired  to  con- 
cealments, from  which  not  even  the  calls  of  hunger  can  force 
them  ;  and  the  rest,  intent  only  on  the  preservation  of  a  joyless 
being,  have  ceased  to  exert  those  powers  of  pleasing,  which,  at 
othe*r  seasons,  so  much  contribute  to  their  mutual  happiness,  as 
well  as  to  the  amusement  of  their  human  sovereign.  Their  social 
connections,  however,  are  improved  by  their  wants.  In  order 
the  better  to  procure  their  scanty  subsistence,  and  resist  the  in- 
clemencies of  the  sky,  they  are  taught  by  instinct  to  assemble  in 
flocks,  and  this  provision  has  the  secondary  effect  of  gratifying 
the  spectator  with  something  of  novelty  and  action  even  in  the 
dreariness  of  a  wintry  prospect. 

But  it  is  in  the  extraordinary  changes  and  agitations  which 
the  elements,  and  the  surrounding  atmosphere  undergo  during 
this  season,  that  the  poet  of  nature  must  principally  look  for  re- 
lief from  the  gloomy  uniformity  reigning  through  other  parts  of 
the  creation.  Here  scenes  are  presented  to  his  view,  which, 
were  they  less  frequent,  must  strike  with  wonder  and  admira- 
tion the  most  incurious  spectator.  The  effects  of  cold  are  more 
sudden,  and  in  many  instances  more  extraordinary  and  unex- 
pected, than  those  of  heat.  He  who  has  beheld  the  vegetable 
productions  of  even  a  northern  Summer,  will  not  be  greatly 
amazed  at  the  richer  and  more  luxuriant,  but  still  resembling 
growths  of  the  tropics.  But  one  who  has  always  been  accus- 
tomed to  view  water  in  a  liquid  and  colourless  state,  cannot  form 
the  least  conception  of  the  same  element  as  hardened  into  an 
extensive  plain  of  solid  crystal,  or  covering  the  ground  with  a 
robe  of  the  purest  white.  The  highest  possible  degree  of  aston- 
ishment must  therefore  attend  the  first  view  of  these  phenomena; 
and  as  in  our  temperate  climate  but  a  small  portion  of  the  year 
affords  these  spectacles,  we  find  that,  even  here,  they  have  no- 
velty enough  to  excite  emotions  of  agreeable  surprise.  But  it  is 
not  to  novelty  alone  that  they  owe  their  charms.  Their  intrinsic 
beauty  is,  perhaps,  individually  superior  to  that  of  the  gayest  ob- 


254  THOMSON. 

jects  presented  by  the  other  seasons.  Where  is  the  elegance  and 
brilliancy  that  can  compare  with  that  which  decorates  every  tree 
or  bush  on  the  clear  morning  succeeding  a  night  of  hoar  frost? 
Or  what  is  the  lustre  that  would  not  appear  dull  and  tarnished 
in  competition  with  a  field  of  snow  just  glazed  over  with  frost? 
By  the  vivid  description  of  such  objects  as  these,  contrasted  with 
the  savage  sublimity  of  storms  and  tempests,  our  poet  has  been 
able  to  produce  a  set  of  winter  landscapes,  as  engaging  to  the 
fancy  as  the  apparently  happier  scenes  of  genial  warmth  and 
verdure. 

But  he  has  not  trusted  entirely  to  these  resources  for  combat- 
ing the  natural  sterility  of  Winter.  Repeating  the  pleasing  arti- 
fice of  his  Summer,  he  has  called  in  foreign  aid,  and  has  height- 
ened the  scenery  with  grandeur  and  horror  not  our  own.  The 
famished  troops  of  wolves  pouring  from  the  Alps ;  the  mountains 
of  snow  rolling  down  the  precipices  of  the  same  regions ;  the 
dreary  plains  over  which  the  Laplander  urges  his  rein-deer  ;  the 
wonders  of  the  icy  sea,  and  volcanoes  "  flaming  through  a  waste 
of  snow  ;''  are  objects  judiciously  selected  from  all  that  Nature 
presents  most  singular  and  striking  in  the  various  domains  of 
boreal  cold  and  wintry  desolation. 

Thus  have  we  attempted  to  give  a  general  view  of  those  mate- 
rials which  constitute  the  groundwork  of  a  poem  on  the  Seasons  ; 
which  are  essential  to  its  very  nature;  and  on  the  proper  ar- 
rangement of  which  its  regularity  and  connection  depend.  The 
extent  of  knowledge,  as  well  as  the  powers  of  description,  which 
Thomson  has  exhibited  in  this  part  of  his  work,  is,  on  the  whole, 
truly  admirable  ;  and  though,  with  the  present  advanced  taste 
for  accurate  observation  in  natural  history,  some  improvements 
might  be  suggested,  yet  he  certainly  remains  unrivalled  in  the 
list  of  descriptive  poets. 

But  the  rural  landscape  is  not  solely  made  up  of  land,  and 
water,  and  trees,  and  birds,  and  beasts  ;  man  is  a  distinguished 
figure  in  it;  his  multiplied  occupations  and  concerns  introduce 
themselves  into  every  part  of  it ;  he  intermixes  even  in  the  wild- 
est and  rudest  scenes,  and  throws  a  life  and  interest  upon  every 
surrounding  object.  Manners  and  character,  therefore,  constitute 
a  part  even  of  a  descriptive  poem  ;  and  in  a  plan  so  extensive  as 
the.  history  of  the  yrai,  they  must  enter  under  various  forms,  and 
upon  iiuTvroua  occasions. 

The  most  obvious  and  appropriated  use  of  human  figures  in 


THOMSON.  255 

pictures  of  the  -Seasons,  is  the  introduction  of  them  to  assist  in 
marking  out  the  succession  of  annual  changes  by  their  various 
labours  and  amusements.  In  common  with  other  animals,  man 
is  directed  in  the  diversified  employment  of  earning  a  toilsome 
subsistence  by  an  attention  to  the  vicissitudes  of  the  seasons  ; 
and  all  his  diversions  in  the  simple  state  of  rustic  society  are 
also  regulated  by  the  same  circumstance.  Thus  a  series  of  mov- 
ing figures  enlivens  the  landscape,  and  contributes  to  stamp  on 
each  scene  its  peculiar  character.  The  shepherd,  the  husband- 
man, the  hunter,  appear  in  their  turns ;  and  may  be  considered 
as  natural  concomitants  of  that  portion  of  the  yearly  round  which 
prompts  their  several  occupations. 

But  it  is  not  only  the  bodily  pursuits  of  man  which  are  affect- 
ed by  these  changes ;  the  sensations  and  affections  of  his  mind 
are  almost  equally  under  their  influence  :  and  the  result  of  the 
whole,  as  forming  the  enamoured  votary  of  Nature  to  a  peculiar 
cast  of  character  and  manners,  is  not  less  conspicuous.  Thus 
the  poet  of  the  Seasons  is  at  liberty,  without  deviating  from  his 
plan,  to  descant  on  the  varieties  of  moral  constitution,  and  the 
powers  which  external  causes  are  found  to  possess  over  the  tem- 
per of  the  soul.  He  may  draw  pictures  of  the  pastoral  life  in  all 
its  genuine  simplicity ;  and,  assuming  the  tone  of  a  moral  in- 
structor, may  contrast  the  peace  and  felicity  of  innocent  retire- 
ment, with  the  turbulent  agitations  of  ambition  and  avarice. 

The  various  incidents,  too,  upon  which  the  simple  tale  of  rural 
events  is  founded,  are  very  much  modelled  by  the  difference  of  sea- 
sons. The  catastrophies  of  Winter  differ  from  those  of  Summer  ; 
the  sports  of  Spring  from  those  of  Autumn.  Thus,  little  history 
pieces  and  adventures,  whether  pathetic  or  amusing,  will  sug- 
gest themselves  to  the  poet ;  which,  when  properly  adapted  to 
the  scenery  and  circumstances,  may  very  happily  coincide  with 
the  main  design  of  the  composition. 

The  bare  enumeration  of  these  several  occasions  of  introducing 
draughts  of  human  life  and  manners,  will  be  sufficient  to  call  to 
mind  the  admirable  use  which  Thomson,  throughout  his  whole 
poem,  has  made  of  them.  He,  in  fact,  never  appears  more  truly 
inspired  with  his  subject,  than  when  giving  birth  to  those  senti- 
ments of  tenderness  and  beneficence,  which  seem  to  have  occu- 
pied his  whole  heart.  An  universal  benevolence,  extending  to 
every  part  of  the  animal  creation,  manifests  itself  in  almost  every 
scene  he  draws ;  and  the  rural  character,  as  delineated  in  his 


256  THOMSON. 

feelings,  contains  all  the  softness,  purit y,  and  etaiplitity,  that  arc 
feigned  of  the  golden  age.  Yet,  excellent  as  tl,.«  moral  and  sen- 
timental part  of  his  work  must  appear  to  every  congenial  mind, 
it  is,  perhaps,  that  in  which  he  may  the  most  easily  be  rivalled. 
A  refined  and  feeling  heart  may  derive  from  its  own  proper 
sources  a  store  of  corresponding  sentiment,  which  will  naturally 
clothe  itself  in  the  form  of  expression  best  suited  to  the  occasion. 
Nor  does  the  invention  of  those  simple  incidents  which  are  most 
adapted  to  excite  the  sympathetic  emotions,  require  any  great 
stretch  of  fancy.  The  nearer  they  approach  to  common  life,  the 
more  certainly  will  they  produce  their  pffect.  Wonder  and  sur- 
prise are  affections  of  so  different  a  kind,  and  so  distract  the  at- 
tention, that  they  never  fail  to  diminish  the  force  of  the  pathetic. 
On  these  accounts,  writers  much  inferior  in  respect  to  the  powers 
of  description  and  imagery,  have  equalled  our  poet  in  elegant 
and  benevolent  sentiment,  and  perhaps  excelled  him  in  interest- 
ing narration.  Of  these,  it  will  be  sufficient  to  mention  the  in- 
genious author  of  a  French  poem  on  the  Seasons  ;  who,  though  a 
mere  copyist  in  the  descriptive  parts,  has  made  many  pleasing 
additions  to  the  manners  and  incidents  proper  for  such  a  com- 
position. 

But  there  is  a  strain  of  sentiment  of  a  higher  and  more  digres- 
sive nature,  with  which  Thomson  has  occupied  a  considerable 
portion  of  his  poem.  The  fundamental  principles  of  moral  phi- 
losophy, ideas  concerning  the  origin  and  progress  of  government 
and  civilisation,  historical  sketches,  and  reviews  of  the  characters 
most  famoub  in  ancient  and  modern  history,  are  interspersed 
through  the  various  parts  of  the  Seasons.  The  manly,  liberal, 
and  enlightened  spirit  which  this  writer  breathes  in  all  his  works* 
must  ever  endear  him  to  the  friends  of  truth  and  virtue ;  and,  in 
particular,  his  genuine  patriotism  and  zeal  in  the  cause  of  liberty 
will  render  his  writings  always  estimable  to  the  British  reader. 
But,  just  and  important  as  his  thoughts  on  these  topics  may  be, 
there  may  remain  a  doubt  in  the  breast  of  the  critic,  whether 
their  introduction  in  a  piece  like  this  do  not,  in  some  instances, 
break  in  upon  that  unity  of  character  which  every  work  of  art 
should  support.  We  have  seen,  from  the  general  plan  and  tenor 
of  the  poem,  that  it  is  professedly  of  the  rural  cast.  The  objects 
it  is  chiefly  conversant  with  are  those  presented  by  the  hand  of 
nature,  not  the  products  of  human  art;  and  when  man  himself 
is  introduced  as  a  part  of  the  group,  it  would  seem  that,  in  con- 


THOMSON.  257 

formity  to  the  rest,  he  ought  to  be  represented  in  such  a  state 
only,  as  the  simplest  forms  qf  society,  and  most  unconstrained 
situations  in  it,  exhibit.  Courts  and  cities,  camps  and  senates, 
do  not  well  accord  with  sylvan  scenery.  From  the  principle  of 
congruity,  therefore,  a  critic  might  be  induced  to  reject  some  of 
these  digressive  ornaments,  though  intrinsically  beautiful,  and 
doubtless  contributing  to  the  elevation  and  variety  of  the  piece. 
His  judgment  in  this  respect  would  be  a  good  deal  influenced  by 
the  manner  of  their  introduction.  In  some  instances,  this  is  so 
easy  and  natural,  that  the  mind  is  scarcely  sensible  of  the  devia- 
tion ;  in  others  it  is  more  abrupt  and  unartful.  As  examples  of 
both,  we  may  refer  to  the  passages  in  which  various  characters 
from  English  and  from  Grecian  and  Roman  history  are  display- 
ed. The  former,  by  a  happy  gradation,  is  introduced  at  the  close 
of  a  delightful  piece,  containing  the  praises  of  Britain  ;  which  is 
itself  a  kind  of  digression,  though  a  very  apt  and  seasonable  one. 
The  latter  has  no  other  connection  with  the  part  at  which  it  is 
inserted,  than  the  very  forced  and  distant  one,  that,  as  reading 
may  be  reckoned  among  the  amusements  appropriated  to  Win- 
ter, such  subjects  as  these  will  naturally  offer  themselves  to  the 
studious  mind. 

There  is  another  source  of  sentiment  to  the  poet  of  the  Sea- 
sons, which,  while  it  is  superior  to  the  last  in  real  elevation,  is 
also  strictly  connected  with  the  nature  of  his  work.  The  gen- 
uine philosopher,  while  he  surveys  the  grand  and  beautiful  ob- 
jects every  where  surrounding  him,  will  be  prompted  to  lift  his 
eye  to  the  great  cause  of  all  these  wonders  ;  the  planner  and  ar- 
chitect of  this  mighty  fabric,  every  minute  part  of  which  so  much 
awakens  his  curiosity  and  admiration.  The  laws  by  which  this 
being  acts,  the  ends  which  he  seems  to  have  pursued,  must  ex- 
cite his  humble  researches;  and  in  proportion  as  he  discovers 
infinite  power  in  the  means,  directed  by  infinite  goodness  in  the 
intention,  his  soul  must  be  wrapt  in  astonishment,  and  expand- 
ed with  gratitude.  The  ceconomy  of  Nature  will,  to  such  an  ob- 
server, be  the  perfect  scheme  of  an  all-wise  and  beneficent  mind; 
and  every  part  of  the  wide  creation  will  appear  to  proclaim  the 
praise  of  its  great  author.  Thus  a  new  connection  will  manifest 
itself  between  the  several  parts  of  the  universe  ;  and  a  new 
order  and  design  will  be  traced  through  the  progress  of  its  vari- 
ous revolutions. 

Thomson's  Seasons  is  as  eminently  a  religious  as  it  is  a  dc 
Kk 


258  THOMSON. 

scriptive  poem.  Thoroughly  impressed  with  sentiments  of  vene- 
ration for  the  author  of  that  assemblage  of  order  and  beauty 
which  it  was  his  province  to  paint,  he  takes  every  proper  occa- 
sion to  excite  similar  emotions  in  the  breast  of  his  readers.  En- 
tirely free  from  the  gloom  of  superstition  and  the  narrowness  of 
bigotry,  he  every  where  represents  the  Deity  as  the  kind  and 
beneficent  parent  of  all  his  works,  always  watchful  over  their 
best  interests,  and  from  seeming  evil  still  educing  the  greatest  pos- 
sible good  to  all  his  creatures.  In  every  appearance  of  nature 
he  beholds  the  operation  of  a  divine  hand  ;  and  regards,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  emphatical  phrase,  each  change  throughout  the 
revolving  year  as  but  the  "  varied  God."  This  spirit,  which 
breaks  forth  at  intervals  in  each  division  of  his  poem,  shines  full 
and  concentred  in  that  noble  hymn  which  crowns  the  work. 
This  piece,  the  sublimest  production  of  its  kind  since  the  days 
of  Milton,  should  be  considered  as  the  winding  up  of  all  the  va- 
riety of  matter  and  design  contained  in  the  preceding  parts  ;  and 
thus  is  not  only  admirable  as  a  separate  composition,  but  is  con- 
trived with  masterly  skill  to  strengthen  the  unity  and  connec- 
tion of  the  Great  Whole. 

Thus  is  planned  and  constructed  a  poem,  which,  founded  as 
it  is  upon  the  unfading  beauties  of  Nature,  will  live  as  long 
as  the  language  in  which  it  is  written  shall  be  read.  If  the 
perusal  of  it  be  in  any  respect  rendered  more  interesting  or  in- 
structive by  this  imperfect  Essay,  the  purpose  of  the  writer  will 
be  fully  answered. 


A  COMPARISON 


BETWEEN 


AS 


DESCRIPTIVE  POETS, 


NO  descriptive  poem  in  any  language  has  obtained  equal 
popularity  with  the  Seasons  of  Thomson,  a  work  of  which  the 
description  of  rural  nature  was  the  proper  subject,  while  moral 
and  philosophical  sentiment  was  its  appendage  and  decoration. 
It  was  happily  calculated  to  please  as  well  those  whose  imagi- 
nations were  readily  impressed  with  the  sublime  and  beautiful, 
as  those  whose  hearts  were  alive  to  feelings  of  tenderness  and 
humanity.  It  found  so  many  readers,  that  probably  no  single 
circumstance  has  contributed  so  much  to  that  love  of  the  coun- 
try, and  taste  for  the  charms  of  nature,  which  peculiarly  cha- 
racterise the  inhabitants  of  this  island,  as  the  early  associations 
formed  by  the  perusal  of  this  poem.  It  also,  like  all  popular 
compositions,  drew  after  it  a  current  of  imitation  ;  and  it  was 
the  model  of  that  exact  style  of  painting  which  is  discernible  in 
the  performances  of  most  of  our  later  descriptive  and  didactic 
poets. 

This  style  is  a  distinguishing  feature  of  that  very  singular  and 
original  poem,  the  Task,  a  work,  the  numberless  beauties  of 
which  have  acquired  it  a  popularity  scarcely  inferior  to  that  of 
the  Seasons  ;  and  have  secured  it  a  permanent  place  among  the 
select  productions  of  English  poetry.  Whether  it  is  more  pro- 
perly to  be  arranged  in  the  descriptive  or  the  didactic  class,  is  a 
question  of  little  moment ;  but  considering  it  as  possessing  pe- 
culiar excellence  in  the  first  of  these  characters,  it  may  be  an. 
interesting  topic  of  critical  discussion  to  compare  the  different 


260  THOMSON  AND  COWPER. 

manners  of  the  Task  and  the  Seasons  in  the  description  of  natu 
ral  objects,  and  to  estimate  their  several  merits. 

To  select  a  variety  of  circumstances  which  shall  identify  the 
object,  and  at  the  same  time  present  it  to  the  imagination  in. 
strong  and  lively  colouring,  is  the  essence  of  poetical  descrip- 
tion. The  qualities  enumerated  must  not  be  so  lax  and  general 
as  to  apply  equally  to  several  species  of  things  (which  is  the 
ordinary  fault  of  the  oriental  manner  of  delineating  ;)  nor  yet  so 
methodically  precise  as  the  descriptions  in  natural  history,  which 
are  addressed  more  to  the  intellect  than  to  the  imagination. 
Grand  and  sublime  objects  are  best  described  by  a  few  bold 
touches ;  for  greatness  is  lost  by  being  parcelled  into  minute 
portions  ;  but  objects  of  beauty  and  curiosity  will  bear  to  be 
viewed  microscopically  ;  and  if  the  particulars  are  skilfully 
chosen,  the  effect  is  enhanced  by  distinctness.  It  is  also  desi- 
rable that  the  circumstances  should  be  suggested  by  personal 
observation  ;  else,  the  picture  will  probably  be  defective  in  ac- 
curacy, or  at  least  will  be  marked  with  the  faintness  of  a  copy 
from  another's  conceptions. 

No  poetical  artist  can  well  venture  to  draw  with  minuter 
strokes  than  Thomson  has  done,  in  the  delineations  of  rural 
scenery  and  occupations,  which  constitute  the  proper  matter  or 
staple  of  his  poem,  and  which  are  generally  both  pleasing  to  con- 
template and  happily  selected  for  the  purpose  of  characterising 
the  season.  It  would  be  difficult  to  determine  whether  the  grand 
or  the  agreeable  objects  presented  by  nature  were  most  conge- 
nial to  his  disposition.  If  his  imagination  was  captivated  by  the 
former,  his  heart  inclined  him  to  the  latter,  especially  to  such  as 
called  forth  kind  and  benevolent  emotions ;  and  as  those  offered 
themselves  most  copiously  to  his  observation,  they  occur  most 
frequently  in  his  poem.  His  scenes  of  sublimity  are  chiefly 
taken  from  the  polar  and  tropical  regions,  in  depicting  which,  he 
only  transcribes  (with  a  poetical  pen  and  fancy,  indeed)  the  de- 
scriptions of  travellers.  His  home  scenery  seems  to  have  been 
almost  entirely  suggested  by  his  own  remarks,  first  made  when 
he  was  a  youth  on  the  banks  of  the  Tweed,  and  afterwards  en- 
larged when  he  was  a  guest  or  an  inhabitant  in  some  of  the  finest 
parts  of  England.  As  he  rejected  no  objects,  however  trivial, 
which  could  serve  to  mark  the  season  he  was  describing,  he  ap- 
pears to  have  thought  it  incumbent  upon  him,  in  order  to  sup- 
port the  dignity  of  verse,  to  intermix  the  figures  and  phraseology 


THOMSON  AND  COWPER.  261 

of  the  higher  kinds  of  poetry  ;  and  to  this  he  was  particularly  in- 
duced by  the  character  of  blank  verse,  in  which  he  composed  ; 
for  this  species,  being  so  little  distinguished  from  prose  by  its 
measure,  had  acquired,  in  the  practice  of  several  eminent  wri- 
ters, an  artificial  stateliness  of  diction,  more  remote  from  com- 
mon speech  than  the  usual  heroic  rhymed  couplet.  This  mixture 
of  high  wrought  language  with  a  humble  topic  is  one  of  the  pecu- 
liar features  of  Thomson's  style  in  descriptive  poetry.  A  few 
examples  will  illustrate  the  manner  of  this  combination. 

In  Summer  a  picture  is  given  of  hay  making,  in  which,  the 
various  operations  of  that  pleasing,  rural  labour,  are  minutely 
represented.  The  following  lines  are  part  of  the  description : — 

Ev'n  stooping  age  is  here,  and  infant  hands 
Trail  the  long  rake,  or  with  the  fragrant  load 
O'ercharg'd,  amid  \\iekindoppression  roll. 


— — all  in  a  row 

Advancing  broad,  or  wheeling  round  the  field, 
They  spread  the  breathing  harvest  to  the  sun. 

In  the  autumnal  scene  of  the  hare  hunt,  when  the  poor  animal 
is  put  up, — 

*  *        *        she  springs  amaxed,  and  all 
The  savage  soul  of  game  is  up  at  once. 

The  stag,  in  similar  circumstances, 

Gives  all  his  sivift  aerial  soul  to  flight. 

When  a  herd  of  cattle  has  taken  alarm  from  the  attack  of  a 
swarm  of  gad  flies, 

*  •        *        *        tossing  the  foam 

They  scorn  the  keeper's  voice,  and  scour  the  plain, 
Thro*  all  the  bright  severity  of  noon. 

All  these  quotations  afford  examples  of  that  abstraction  or 
generalisation  which  is  one  of  the  distinctions  of  poetical  lan- 
guage, and  which,  when  in  unison  with  the  subject  and  the  ordi- 
nary strain  of  the  diction,  often  produces  a  very  happy  effect, 
How  far  it  does  so  in  the  preceding-  passages,  the  reader  may 
determine  according  to  his  own  feelings.  To  me,  while  the  two 
last  appear  not  only  excusable,  but  worthy  of  admiration,  the 


262  THOMSON  AND  COWPKR. 

former  give  the  perception  of  turgidity  and  ill  applied  effort. 
The  following  lines  in  the  description  of  the  vintage,  aftbrd  a 
singular  mixture  of  vulgar  and  lofty  phraseology  : — 

Then  comes  the  crushing  swain,  the  country  floats 
Andyoaws  unbounded  with  the  mashy  flood, 
That  by  degrees  fermented  and  refined, 
Round  the  raised  nations  pours  the  cup  of  joy. 

There  are  few  pages  of  the  Seasons  \vhichdo  not  present  some- 
what of  this  combination  of  elevated  language  with  common  mat- 
ter, which,  whatever  critical  judgment  be  passed  upon  it,  must  be 
regarded  as  characteristic  of  the  author's  manner. 

Another  artifice  which  he  employs  to  give  dignity  to  a  humble 
topic,  is  to  annex  to  it  moral  sentiment,  and,  as  it  were,  hu- 
manise the  animal  natures  concerned  in  the  scene.  Thus, 
where  he  has  perhaps  descended  the  lowest, — in  his  description 
of  a  spider  catching  flies  in  a  window,— this  insect  is  termed 

The  villain  spider    *        *        *    cunning  and  fierce, 
Mixture  abhorr'd  ! 

He  is  afterwards  called  the  ruffian ;  and  the  victim  fly,  the 
dreadless  wanderer;  and  the  whole  action  is  minutely  told  in  a 
tragical  style  that  would  suit  the  murder  of  a  Duncan  or  a  Cla- 
rence. In  like  manner,  the  bear,  seeking  his  winter  retreat,  is 
endowed  with  a  human  soul  :— 

*        *    with  stern  patience,  scorning  weak  complaint, 
Hardens  his  breast  against  assailing  want. 

Whatever  be  thought  of  these  particular  examples,  it  is  pre- 
sumed that  no  reader  of  sensibility  will  object  to  the  pleasing  de- 
tails of  the  passion  of  the  groves,  though  in  some  instances  the 
writer  may  have  assigned  to  his  feathered  pairs  feelings  which 
only  belong  to  human  lovers. 

The  frequent  use  of  compound  epithets  is  another  circumstance 
by  which  Thomson's  diction  is  strongly  marked.  These  are  el- 
liptical modes  of  expression,  by  means  of  which,  qualities  or  at- 
tributes are  annexed  to  a  subject  in  the  most  concise  form  pos- 
sible. The  effect  of  this  compression  is  often  truly  poetical, — a 
striking  idea  being  excited  by  a  single  word,  which  it  would  take 
a  line  to  convey  in  detail.  It  is,  however,  a  license  in  language, 
and  when  arbitrarily  framed,  with  no  regard  to  grammatical  pro- 


THOMSON  AND  COWPER.  263 

priety,  is  apt  to  give  offence  to  a  correct  taste.  This  is  the  case 
when  the  two  parts  of  the  compound  have  no  natural  connection, 
or  stand  in  no  relation  to  each  other  of  substantive  and  attribute, 
or  of  cause  and  effect.  Thus,  in  the  Seasons,  blood-happy,  mean- 
ing happy  in  the  taste  of  blood  ;  thick-nibbling,  standing  close 
and  nibbling;  pale-quivering,  pale  and  quivering  ;  fair-exposed, 
fair  and  exposed  ;  seem  examples  of  harsh  and  vicious  formation. 
In  many  instances,  the  compounding  is  effected  merely  by  using 
an  adjective  adverbially,  as,  wild-throbbing  for  wildly  throbbing; 
loose  floating,  for  loosely  floating ;  where  too  little  appears  to  be 
gained  to  justify  the  license.  Upon  the  whole,  Thomson's  em- 
ployment of  this  device  to  render  language  poetical  may  justly 
be  termed  excessive  ;  and  it  is  so  characteristic  of  his  style,  that 
Brown,  in  his  "  Pipe  of  Tobacco,"  has  personated  this  poet  chiefly 
by  his  compound  epithets : — 

*        *         *         *     forth  issue  clouds, 
Thought-thrilling,  thirst-inciting  clouds  around, 
And  many-mining  fu-es. 

To  speak  of  Thomson  generally  as  a  descriptive  poet,  it  may 
then  be  said,  that  in  choice  of  subjects,  he  rejects  none  that  can 
be  rendered  pleasing  and  impressive,  and  that  he  paints  with  a 
circumstantial  minuteness  which  gives  the  objects  clear  and  dis- 
tinct to  the  imagination  ;  that  with  respect  to  diction,  he  is  usu- 
ally expressive  and  energetic,  with  frequent  touches  of  truly 
poetic  imagery,  but  occasionally  verging  to  the  turgid  and  cum- 
brous, particularly  when  he  is  desirous  of  elevating  a  humble 
topic  by  a  pomp  of  phrase.  It  may  be  added,  that  no  poet  before 
him  ever  viewed  nature  either  so  extensively  or  so  accurately ; 
and  that  a  benevolent  heart,  and  a  soul  tutored  by  philosophy  and 
impressed  by  the  sentiments  of  a  pure  and  enlarged  theology 
continually  animate  his  pictures  of  rural  life. 

Of  the  merit  of  his  versification,  different  ears  have  judged 
very  different.  That  his  lines  sometimes  move  heavily  beneath 
an  overweight  of  matter,  and  that  they  are  occasionally  harsh 
and  unmelodious,  is  sufficiently  perceptible;  but,  considering 
the  length  of  his  poem,  such  defects  may  be  excused ;  and  the 
general  flow  of  his  strain  appears  to  me  equal  in  harmony  to  that 
of  most  composers  of  blank  verse,  though  rarely  attaining  excel- 
lence. As  he  is  said  to  have  been  a  very  uncouth  reader  of  his 


264  THOMSON  AND  COWPER. 

own  lines,  it  is  probable  that  his  musical  perceptions  were  not 
remarkably  nice. 

Thomson  still  bore  the  palm  of  descriptive  poetry,  and  his  man- 
ner was  the  principal  object  of  imitation,  when  Cowper,  who  had 
failed  of  exciting  attention  by  a  volume  of  poems  displaying  abun- 
dant genius,  but  in  a  repulsive  garb,  burst  on  the  public  with  his 
Task.  This  work,  without  professed  subject  or  plan,  consists  of 
a  mixture  of  description,  chiefly  rural,  and  of  moral  and  religious 
sentiment,  each  introduced  as  it  seems  to  have  suggested  itself 
to  the  mind  of  the  author,  with  no  other  connection  than  casual 
association.  Educated  at  a  public  school,  and  afterwards  initia- 
ted in  the  school  of  the  world  ;  of  a  temper  frank  and  undisguised; 
naturally  inclined  to  hilarity,  but  with  great  inequality  of  spirits, 
which  at  length  plunged  him  into  a  morbid  melancholy,  and  ren- 
dered him  the  victim  of  a  gloomy  and  appalling  system  of  reli- 
gion; kind  and  benevolent  in  his  feelings,  but  converted  by 
principle  to  a  keen  and  caustic  censor  of  life  and  manners  ;  long 
consigned  to  a  retirement  in  which  his  chief  employment  and  so- 
lace was  the  contemplation  of  nature  ;  Cowper  brought  a  very 
extraordinary  assemblage  of  qualities,  moral  and  intellectual,  to 
give  direction  to  a  genius  of  the  first  order.  A  free  converse 
with  men  of  the  world,  and  an  abhorrence  of  every  thing  like  af- 
fectation, in  language  as  well  as  in  manners,  had  formed  him  to 
a  style  purely  English,  not  disdaining  a  mixture  of  common 
words,  and  rendered  poetical,  not  by  a  lofty  cant,  but  by  expres- 
sions warmed  with  the  vivid  imagery  that  played  before  his  fancy. 
Eoually  minute  and  circumstantial  with  Thomson  in  his  mode 
of  description,  and  by  no  means  fastidious  in  his  choice  of  sub- 
jects, in  which  he  was  partly  influenced  by  a  strong  relish  for 
humour,  as  well  as  a  taste  for  the  beautiful  and  sublime,  he  some- 
times paints  in  a  manner  resembling  the  Dutch  or  Flemish  school, 
but  always  with  touches  of  the  true  picturesque.  When  his  sub- 
ject is  low,  he  is  content  to  leave  it  so,  without  any  effort  to  raise 
it  by  the  ambitious  ornaments  of  artificial  diction,  secure  of  inter- 
esting his  reader  by  the  truth  and  liveliness  of  his  delineation. 
Thus,  in  his  picture  of  the  Woodman,  which  has  been  happily 
transferred  to  canvass,  not  a  word  is  employed  that  rises  above 
the  matter,  yet  the  language  could  present  no  other  terms  equally 
expressive : — 

Shaggy  and  \e»n,  ami  shrewd,  wit'i  pointed  ears, 
And  tail  cropt  short,  hnlt-lurcher  and  half-cur. 


THOMSON  AND  COWPER.  265 

His  dog  attends  him.     Close  behind  his  heel 
Now  creeps  he  slow,  and  now  with  many  a  frisk 
Wi<le-scamp;jring,  snatches  up  the  drifted  snow 
With  ivory  teeth,  or  ploughs  it  with  his  snout, 
Then  shakes  his  powder'd  coat,  and  barks  for  joy. 
Heedless  of  all  his  pranks,  the  sturdy  churl 
Moves  right  toward  the  mark,  nor  stops  for  aught 
But  now  and  then,  with  pressure  of  his  thumb, 
T'  adjust  the  fragrant  charge  of  a  short  tube 
That  fumes  beneath  his  nose.     The  trailing  cloud 
Streams  far  behind  him,  scenting  all  the  air. 

The  Carrier,  in  a  snow  storm, — 

With  half-shut  eyes,  and  pucker'd  cheeks,  and  teeth 
Presented  bare  against  the  storm,-— 

Is  a  draught  of  the  same  kind,  something  more  bordering  on  the 
Dutch  style,  but  perfect  as  a  copy  of  reality.  In  both  these  pas- 
sages, words  are  found  which  could  not  have  suggested  themselves 
to  Thomson,  or,  if  they  had,  would  scarcely  have  been  admitted; 
yet  what  reader  of  true  taste  would  change  them  ?  This  mascu- 
line vigour  of  vernacular  diction,  which  is  characteristic  of  Cow- 
per's  style,  and  in  which  it  resembles  that  of  Dryden,  by  no  means 
precludes  (any  more  than  it  did  in  that  poet)  the  highest  degree 
of  grace  and  elegance  when  those  qualities  are  congenial  with 
the  subject.  What  can  surpass  in  gracefulness  of  language,  as 
well  as  in  beauty  of  imagery,  his  enumeration  of  plants  in  the 
flowering-shrubbery  ? — The  tall  guelder-rose 

*  '     •          throwing  up  into  the  darkest  gloom 
Of  neighb'ring  cypress,  or  more  sable  yew, 
Her  silver  globes,  light  as  the  foamy  surf 
That  the  wind  severs  from  the  broken  wave. 
******* 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

*          *          *  luxuriant  above  all 
The  jasmine,  throwing  wide  her  elegant  sweets, 
The  deep  dark  green  of  whose  unvamish'd  leaf 
Makes  more  conspicuous,  and  illumines  more, 
The  bright  profusion  of  her  scatter'd  stars. 

If  the  passage  in  which  these  lines  are  contained  be  compared 

with  a  resembling  one  in  Thomson  describing  the  flowers  that 

blow  from  early  Spring   to  Summer,  it  will   appear,  that  whilst 

the  latter  poet  attempts  little  more  than  to  annex  to  each  some 

LI 


£66  THOMSON  AND  COWPER. 

mark  of  distinction  properly  belonging  to  it,  the  former  asso- 
ciates with  the  subject  of  his  description  some  idea  of  the  imagi- 
nation which  enhances  its  effect  by  parallelism.    Nothing  de 
notes  the  mind  of  a  poet  so  much  as  this  operation  of  the  fancy 
when  objects  are  presented  to  the  external  senses. 

That  Thomson  was  in  general  an  exact,  as  well  as  a  minute, 
observer  of  nature  is  evinced  in  almost  every  page  of  the  Sea- 
sons ;  yet  there  are  some  instances  in  which  Cowper,  in  touching 
upon  the  same  circumstances,  has  displayed  superior  correctness. 
Thus,  where  Thomson,  with  a  truly  picturesque  selection  of  in- 
cidents, represents  the  effects  of  a  hard  frost,  he  augments  the 
real  wonders  of  the  scene  by  painting  a  cascade  as  if  it  were  con 
gealed  into  ice  at  the  instant  of  falling: — 

*         *         *     the  dumb  cascade, 
Whose  idle  torrents  on!)  seem  to  roar. 

But  this  is  an  impossibility,  and  is  regarded  as  such  by  Cow- 
per, who  has  formed  a  beautiful  frost  picture  from  the  opposite 
appearances.  Speaking  of  a  stream  stealing  away  beneath  its 
frozen  surface,  he  says, — 

Not  so,  where  scornful  of  a  check,  it  leaps 
The  mill-dam,  <lashes  on  the  restless  wheel, 
And  wantons  in  the  pebbly  gulf  below. 
No  frost  can  bind  it  there  :  its  utmost  force 
Can  but  arrest  the  light  and  smoky  mist 
That  in  its  fall  the  liquid  sheet  throws  wide. 

In  this  passage,  too,  Cowper  is  more  accurate  in  the  silent 
stealthy  flow  of  the  frost-bound  stream,  than  Thomson,  who,  pro- 
bably for  the  sake  of  poetical  effect,  represents  it  as  indignantly 
murmuring  at  its  chains : — 

The  whole  imprisoned  river  growls  below. 

Cowper's  exactness  was  probably  owing  to  his  having  been, 
from  his  situation,  an  observer  of  nature  at  an  advanced  period 
of  life,  when  the  novelty  of  common  objects  being  exhausted,  the 
rural  solitary  is  reduced  to  pry  more  closely  into  surrounding 
scenes,  in  order  to  excite  a  new  interest  in  them.  Hence,  his 
observations  are  commonly  of  a  more  curious  and  recondite  kind 
than  those  of  Thomson,  who  usually  takes  what  lies  obvious  upon 
the  surface  of  things.  Every  reader  of  the  Seasons  has  ad- 


THOMSON  AND  COWPER.  267 

mired  the  pleasing  description  of  the  red-breast,  "paying  to 
trusted  man  his  annual  visit :"  it  is  recognised  for  perfect  na- 
ture, because  every  one  has  witnessed  the  reality :  but  few  in. 
their  winter  walks  have  made  those  remarks  on  the  same  bird 
which  dictated  to  Cowper  the  following  lines : — 

The  red-breast  warbles  still,  but  is  content 
With  slender  notes  and  more  than  half  suppressed. 
Pleased  with  his  solitude,  and  flitting  light 
F-om  spray  to  spr*y,  where'er  he  r^sts  ht  shakes 
From  many  a  twig  the  |K-nd>  nt  drops  of  ice, 
That  tinkle  in  the  wither'd  leaves  below. 

This  picture  is  equally  natural  with  the  former,  and  has  the 
additional  merit  of  furnishing  new  images  to  the  fancy.  It  was 
from  such  a  mature  and  deliberate  study  of  nature  that  Mr. 
White  of  Selborne  derived  that  store  of  curious  observation, 
which  he  has  presented  in  the  most  entertaining  miscellany  of 
natural  history  that  was  ever  composed. 

Both  of  these  poets  occasionally  employed  personification, 
which  is  a  kind  of  abstract  and  comprehensive  description.  To 
the  poet  of  the  Seasons  it  was  an  obvious  piece  of  mechanism  that 
each  should  make  its  entrance  as  a  living  figure ;  distinguished 
by  some  characteristic  of  that  portion  of  the  year  of  which  it  was 
the  harbinger ;  but  it  cannot  be  said  that  in  these  draughts  he 
has  displayed  much  fancy.  The  epithet  of  "  ethereal  Mildness" 
which  he  gives  to  Spring  presents  no  visual  image ;  and  it  has 
been  justly  objected  by  Miss  Seward,  that  the  "  showers  of  sha- 
dowing roses5'  in  which  she  descends  is  an  usurpation  upon  the 
property  of  Summer.  To  Summer  is  assigned  nothing  more  than 
"refulgent  youth,"  and  an  "ardent  look."  Autumn  has  the 
common  bearings  of  the  sickle  and  wheaten  sheaf,  with  which  he, 
or  she,  is  oddly  said  to  be  "  crowned :"  and  Winter  is  only 
marked  by  the  qualities  of  gloom  and  surliness.  The  other 
sketches  of  personification  in  his  poem  are  too  slight  to  merit 
notice. 

The  case  is  very  different  with  Cowper.  His  powerful  imagi- 
nation was  equal  to  those  creative  exertions  which  are  perhaps 
the  highest  triumph  of  poetry ;  and  though  his  purpose  in  the 
Task  did  not  urge  him  to  frequent  attempts  of  this  kind,  yet  he 
has  exhibited  specimens  which  in  grandeur  and  elegance  have 
scarcely  ever  been  surpassed.  His  personified  figures  of  Win- 
ter and  of  Evening  will  justify  this  assertion  to  every  reader  sus- 


268  THOMSON  AND  COWPER. 

ceptible  of  the  charms  of  pure  poetry  ;  and,  I  think,  clearly  es- 
tablish his  claims  to  a  higher  seat  on  Parnassus  than  that  occu- 
pied by  Thomson. 

The  descriptive  matter  in  the  Seasons  is  diversified  by  some 
little  history  pieces,  the  subjects  of  whi.ch  have  a  reference  to 
that  part  of  the  year  in  which  they  are  introduced.  It  is  gene- 
rally admitted  that  the  style  of  Thomson  is  little  suited  to  the 
narrative  of  common  life.  Destitute  of  ease,  and  wholly  unlike 
the  language  of  real  conversation,  it  proves  an  awkward  vehicle 
for  the  dialogue  and  incidents  of  story -telling ;  and  though  an  in- 
terest is  excited  by  the  pathetic  of  the  circumstances,  as  in  the 
maid  struck  by  lightning,  and  the  man  lost  in  the  snow,  it  owes 
nothing  to  the  manner  of  narration.  Cowper,  on  the  contrary, 
was  a  master  in  this  style,  He  perfectly  understood  common 
speech,  and  could  readily  accommodate  his  phraseology  to  his 
subject.  The  touching  story  of  Crazy  Kate,  and  the  various  pas- 
sages in  which  he  alludes  to  the  melancholy  history  of  his  own 
life,  aie  examples  of  the  natural  mode  of  narration;  of  which 
many  more  instances  might  be  adduced  from  his  other  poems, 

As  the  versification  of  Thomson  has  been  mentioned,  it  will 
be  proper,  by  way  of  comparison,  to  say  something  of  that  of 
Cowper.  His  blank  verse  is  in  general  the  apparently  negli- 
gent effusion  of  one  who,  pouring  out  his  thoughts  in  exuberance, 
does  not  long  study  to  put  them  into  measure.  But  he  evident- 
ly possessed  a  musical  and  practised  ear;  and  his  irregularities 
are  nut  always  without  design.  It  is  known  that  in  his  version  of 
Homer  he  paid  very  particular  attention  to  the  melody  of  his 
lines  and  its  adaptation  to  the  subject;  and  if,  in  the  Task,  his 
mind  was  more  occupied  with  the  sentiments,  there  are  not  want- 
in^  j  a»sages  the  flow  of  which  is  remarkably  harmonious.  One 
example  shall  suffice  for  a  proof  of  his  talents  in  this  respect  :•— 

How  wit  the  music  of  those-  village  bells 
Faiui'g  "I  aitt-Tvals  upon  the  ear 
In  cadence  sweet !  now  dying  all  away, 
Now  p*  aling  loud  ugain,  and  louder  still, 
Clear  and  sonorous  as  the  gale  comes  on. 

A  fine  ear  is,  then,  another  poetical  requisite  in  which  nature 
seems  to  have  been  more  liberal  to  Cowper  than  to  Thomson.  It 
would,  perhaps,  be  easy  to  quote  from  the  latter,  instances  in 
which  hat&h  or  appalling  sounds  are  happily  imitated,  for  our 
language  abounds  with  words  which  echo  tones  of  that  class ;  but 


THOMSON  AND  COWPER.  269 

to  make  English  verse  "  discourse  eloquent  music"  is  a  much 
more  difficult  task. 

Such  appear  to  me  to  be  the  principal  characteristics  of  these 
two  original  poets  in  that  delineation  of  natural  objects  and  the 
incidents  of  rural  life,  for  which  both  are  so  justly  admired, 
Thomson  is  so  far  entitled  to  the  first  place,  that  if  his  minute 
style  of  painting  had  not  obtained  admission  into  English  poe- 
try, the  descriptions  in  the  Task  would  probably  never  have  ex- 
isted :  yet  Cowper  cannot  be  denominated  an  imitator  in  them, 
since  his  manner  is  entirely  his  own,  and  the  objects  he  has  re- 
presented were  evidently  suggested  by  individual  observation. 
Between  the  two  poems  no  comparison  can  subsist;  for  while 
the  Seasons  is  the  completion  of  an  extensive  plan,  necessarily 
comprising  a  great  variety  of  topics,  most  of  which  would  occur 
to  every  poetical  mind  occupied  in  the  same  design  ;  the  Task 
owes  nothing  to  a  preconceived  argument,  but  is  the  extemporane- 
ous product  of  the  very  singular  mind  and  genius  of  the  author. 
Tt  had  no  model,  and  can  have  no  parallel. 


AN  ESSAY 


ON 


POEM  ON  THE 
ART  OF  PRESERVING  HEALTH. 


THE  Poems  termed  didactic  may  be  considered  as  of  two 
kinds.  Those  to  which  the  term  is  more  properly  applied,  are 
such  as  directly  profess  to  teach  some  art  or  science.  The  other 
species  consists  of  those  which,  taking  up  some  speculative  topic, 
establish  a  theory  concerning  it  by  argument  and  illustration 
Of  the  former  kind,  many  will  familiarly  occur  to  the  reader's 
memory ;  and  the  piece  before  us  is  an  example  of  it.  Of  the 
latter,  are  various  philosophical  and  argumentative  pieces,  from 
the  poem  of  Lucretius  on  the  Epicurean  system,  to  Pope's  Essay 
on  Man,  and  Akenside's  Pleasures  of  the  Imagination.  A  mid- 
dle place  between  the  two  seems  to  be  occupied  by  moral  poetry 
which,  at  the  same  time  that  it  lays  down  practical  rules  for  the 
conduct  of  life,  discusses  the  theoretical  principle  on  which  they 
are  founded. 

Now  in  estimating  the  respective  value  of  these  different  pro- 
ducts of  the  poetic  art,  it  will  be  necessary  to  begin  with  con- 
sidering what  poetry  essentially  is,  and  what  are  its  powers  and 
purposes.  It  is,  I  conceive,  essential  to  poetry  that  it  should 
present  ideas  to  the  imagination,  either  agreeable  of  themselves, 
or  rendered  so  by  the  clothing  and  accompaniments  given  to 
them.  Its  leading  aim  is  to  please ;  and  its  powers  are,  to  a  cer- 
tain degree,  to  make  pleasing  what  would  not  be  so  of  itself.  If, 
therefore,  by  the  poet's  art,  to  the  main  end  of  giving  pleasure, 
can  be  associated  that  of  communicating  instruction  in  such  a 
way  as  will  more  strongly  and  agreeably  impress  it  on  the  mind, 


ARMSTRONG.  271 

its  complete  purpose  may  be  said  to  be  attained.  Delight  and 
profit  combined  are  all  that  can  be  wished  from  the  noblest  of 
the  fine  arts. 

But  there  are  subjects,  the  nature  of  which  renders  such  a 
combination  scarcely  possible,  and  in  which  every  attempt  to 
produce  it,  can  only  yield  an  incongruous  mixture  of  ill  placed 
ornament  and  defective  instruction.  These  are  especially  to  be 
found  iu  those  arts  of  life  which  depend  upon  the  application  of 
mechanical  rules,  or  the  practical  skill  acquired  by  experience. 
To  describe  the  minute  processes  of  manual  art  in  verse,  in  such 
a  manner  as  that  they  shall  be  understood,  is  not  only  a  very 
difficuit  task,  but  a  wholly  fruitless  one  ;  since,  after  all,  the  de- 
scription cannot  be  so  clear  and  precise  as  one  written  in  prose, 
nor  can  the  verse  rise  to  poetry.  We  may,  indeed,  admire  the 
skill  shown  in  the  attempt  to  decorate  a  barren  subject,  but  we 
must  regret  that  the  writer's  talents  were  so  ill  employed.  So 
obvious  is  this  conclusion,  that  we  may  be  assured  no  one  ever 
wrote  a  didactic  poem  for  the  simple  purpose  of  teaching  an  art. 
The  choice  has  therefore  been  dictated  by  a  search  after  novelty, 
or  the  desire  of  exhibiting  a  proof  of  poetical  skill.  These  mo- 
tives are  expressly  avowed  by  Virgil  in  his  Georgics,  and  are 
much  more  probable  than  the  deep  political  design  attributed  to 
that  poem,  of  exciting  the  Roman  nobility  to  the  pursuits  of  agri 
culture. 

But  while  perhaps  every  poem  strictly  didactic  labours  under 
the  inconvenience  of  a  subject  not  calculated  for  displaying  the 
art  of  poetry  in  its  fairest  form,  some,  both  from  their  nature, 
and  from  the  manner  of  treating  them,  are  less  defective  in  this 
respect  than  others.  Thus,  certain  arts  are  closely  connected  in 
their  theory  with  large  and  philosophical  views  of  the  system  of 
the  universe,  or  ot  the  principles  of  the  human  mind.  Some, 
even,  in  their  practice,  afford  matter  for  pleasing  description, 
and  admit  of  easy  illustration  from  the  most  striking  and  agree- 
able objects  of  external  nature.  For  example,  the  arts  of  hus- 
bandry are  evidently  allied  to  a  vast  variety  of  great  and  inte- 
resting topics  ;  and  we  all  know  how  advantageously  Virgil  has 
employed  them  as  the  ground  work  of  one  of  the  most  pleasing 
poems  of  antiquity.  This  piece,  however,  will  also  serve  to  show 
the  unfavourable  effect  of  attempting  to  express  matter  purely 
technical  in  a  poetical  manner.  For  no  unprejudiced  reader  will 
,  that  in  many  of  the  preceptive  passages,  notwithstanding 


ARMSTRONG. 

the  variety  of  resources  he  employs  to  elevate  them  into  poetry, 
he  is  overpowered  by  his  subject,  and  chained  as  it  were,  to  the 
earth  he  is  labouring ; — while  on  the  other  hand,  as  a  teacher  of 
the  art,  he  is  frequently  so  obscure,  as  to  have  embarrassed  the 
•whole  race  of  agricultural  and  literary  critics  since  his  time.  It 
may  also  be  observed,  that  had  he  extended  his  views  further  into 
the  philosophical  part  of  his  subject,  and  made  a  full  use  of  the 
moral  and  physical  variety  it  was  capable  of  affording,  he  would 
not  have  found  it  necessary  to  wander  into  digressions  so  re- 
motely connected  with  his  proposed  topics,  as  scarcely  to  be 
justified  by  any  reasonable  claim  of  poetic  license.  For  even  the 
semblance  of  teaching  is  destroyed  by  deviations,  the  manifest 
purpose  of  which  is  to  disengage  the  reader's  attention  from  the 
main  subject,  and  fix  it  upon  somewhat  more  captivating  to  the 
imagination. 

With  respect  to  the  piece  before  us,  its  subject  seems  on  the 
whole  as  happily  calculated  for  didactic  poetry,  as  most  of  those 
which  have  been  taken  for  the  purpose.     To  say  that  it  is  a  pe- 
culiarly proper  one  for  a  physician  to  write  upon,  is  saying  no- 
thing of  consequence  to  the  reader.     But  the  preservation  of 
health  is,  in  the  first  place,  a  matter  of  general  importance,  and 
therefore  interesting  to  readers  of  every  class.     Then,  although 
its  rules,  scientifically  considered,  belong  to  a  particular  pro- 
fession, and  require  previous  studies  for  their  full  comprehen- 
sion;  yet,  in  the  popular  use,  they  are  level  to  the  understand- 
ing and  experience  of  every  man  of  reading  and  reflection.  Had 
the  subject  been  more  strictly  medical,  such  as  the  nature  and 
cure  of  a  particular  disease,  it  would  have  been  liable  to  the  ob- 
jections attending  a  confined  and  professional  topic ;  and,  like 
the  Siphylis  of  Fracastorius,  could  scarcely,  by  the  greatest  poe- 
tical skill,  have  been  rendered  generally  pleasing  or  instructive. 
But  every  man  being  in  some  measure  entrusted  with  the  care 
of  his  own  health,  and  being  accustomed  to  speculations  concern- 
ing Air,  Diet,  Exercise,  and  the  Passions,  the  subject  may  be 
considered  as  universal.     It  is   true,  these  topics  can  be  poeti- 
cally treated   only  in   a   popular  manner,  and   the  writer  who 
chooses  the  vehicle  of  verse  in  treating  of  them,  must  take  up 
with  common  and  perhaps  superficial  notions.     But  by  associa- 
ting these  notions  with  images  addressed  to  the  imagination,  he 
may  convey  them  in  a  more  agreeable  form  ;  and  he  may  advan- 
tageously employ  the  diction  of  poetry  to  give  to  practical  rules 


ARMSTRONG.  273 

an  energy  and  conciseness  of  expression  which  may  forcibly  im- 
print them  on  the  memory.  This  power  is,  indeed,  the  principal 
circumstance  which  imparts  real  utility  to  didactic  poetry;  and 
we  all  feel  its  effects  on  becoming  acquainted  with  the  moral 
and  critical  works  of  such  authors  as  Horace,  Boileau,  and  Pope. 
Further,  the  topics  with  which  the  Art  of  Health  is  conversant, 
are  connected  with  various  of  the  loftiest  and  most  extensive 
speculations  on  general  nature;  and  in  pursuing  the  regular  vein 
of  thought,  many  sources  of  truly  poetical  ideas  may  be  opened. 
It  remains  now  to  examine  how  far  the  author  has  availed  himself 
of  the  advantages  of  his  subject,  and  in  what  manner  he  has  sup- 
ported the  character  of  a  didactic  poet. 

As  Invocation  is  an  established  part  of  a  regular  poem,  it  was 
necessary  that  the  piece  before  us  should  be  provided  with  that 
decoration.  The  choice  of  Hygeia,  or  the  Goddess  of  Health, 
for  the  object  of  address,  was  dictated  by  a  very  obvious  pro- 
priety. The  manner  is  imitated  from  that  of  Lucretius  in  his 
fine  invocation  of  Venus;  and  much  imagination  is  displayed  in 
the  description  of  her  approach,  and  of  the  various  baleful  forms 
of  disease  and  death  that  fly  from  her  presence. 

Of  the  sources  from  which  health  is  drawn,  salubrious  air  is 
one  of  the  most  remarkable.  Air,  therefore,  with  propriety,  is 
made  the  peculiar  topic  of  the  first  book.  Perhaps  a  descriptive 
passage  of  more  strength  can  scarcely  be  met  with  than  that  which 
enumerates  the  various  contaminations  of  this  element  in  a  crowd- 
ed city.  The  ideas,  indeed,  in  their  own  nature  disgusting,  might 
be  thought  almost  too  vividly  represented,  did  they  not  by  con- 
trast add  to  the  sweetness  of  the  subsequent  rural  picture,  the 
effect  of  which  is  almost  equal  to  that  of  the  fabled  calenture  in 
calling  forth  irresistible  longings  after  the  country.  Every  rea- 
der familiar  with  the  vicinity  of  the  metroplis  will  feel  peculiar 
pleasure  from  the  glimpses  given  of  those  favourite  summer  re- 
treats, Windsor,  Richmond,  Dulwich,  and  Hampstead,  which  will 
excite  in  his  mind  peculiar  images,  always  much  more  engaging 
to  the  fancy  than  general  ones.  The  poet  next  exercises  his  in- 
vention in  one  of  the  higher  efforts  of  the  art,  that  of  allegorical 
personification.  His  figure  and  genealogy  of  Quartana  are  well 
imagined  ;  but  like  most  of  those  who  create  these  fancy  formed 
beings,  he  fails  in  the  agency  he  attributes  to  her ;  for  in  merely 
inspiring  a  fit  of  the  ague,  she  acts  not  as  a  person,  but  as  an  in- 
corporeal cause. 
Mm 


xj;4  ARMSTRONG 

He  goes  on  to  describe  the  different  sites  unfriendly  to  health, 
particularly  the  too  moist  and  the  too  dry,  which  he  makes  the 
foundation  of  what  are  called  in  the  schools  of  physic,  the  phleg- 
matic and  melancholic  temperaments.  In  his  instructions  how- 
to  guard  against  the  evils  of  different  situations,  he  somewhat 
anticipates  his  future  topics  of  diet  and  exercise.  The  passage, 
however,  is  full  of  vigorous  description  ;  and  the  means  of  cor- 
recting the  watery  and  the  parched  soil  afford  spirited  sketches 
of  landscape.  But  he  is  no  where  so  minute,  as  in  that  perpetual 
topic  of  an  Englishman,  the  bad  weather  under  which  our  island 
is  so  frequently  submerged.  A  kind  of  splenetic  strength  of 
painting  distinguishes  his  gloomy  draught  of  loaded  skies  and 
eastern  blasts,  and  of  that  vexalious  fickleness  of  weather,  in. 
which  all  the  seasons  seem  to  "  mix  in  every  monstrous  day." 

We  are,  however,  brought  into  good  humour  again  by  the  de- 
scription of  cheerful,  dry,  and  sheltered  spots  in  which  atmo- 
spherical evils  may  be  palliated  ;  and  the  concluding  eulogy  on 
the  cheering  and  invigorating  influence  of  solar  heat,  leaves  the 
fancy  agreeably  impressed  with  a  sensation  similar  to  that  im- 
parted by  a  serene  summer's  day.  On  the  whole,  the  descriptive 
beauties  of  this  book  are  considerable  ;  but  as  a  leading  head  of 
his  subject,  it  might  I  conceive,  have  been  lengthened  with  ad- 
vantage, by  some  circumstances  relative  to  the  influence  of  air 
upon  health,  which  he  has  not  touched  upon.  The  sudden  ope- 
ration upon  the  spirits  by  alterations  in  the  weight  of  the  atmo- 
sphere, as  indicated  by  the  barometer,  and  the  medicinal  effects 
of  change  of  climate  upon  invalids,  would  have  afforded  matter 
both  for  curious  discussion,  and  interesting,  and  even  pathetic, 
narration. 

Diet,  the  subject  of  the  second  book,  is,  as  the  writer  observes 
on  entering  upon  it,  comparatively  barren  and  unfavourable  to 
poetry.  It  is  evidently  more  immersed  in  technical  investiga- 
tions than  the  former;  and  its  connection  with  the  grossest  of 
the  sensual  pleasures,  renders  it  difficult  to  be  treated  on  with- 
out derogating  from  the  dignity  of  a  philosophical  poem.  Dr. 
Armstrong,  however,  has  managed  it  with  judgment.  He  be- 
gins with  a  scientific  topic,  necessary  as  a  foundation  for  the 
preceptive  part  which  is  to  follow — the  circulation  of  the  blood. 
This  function,  however,  admits  of  easy  illustration  from  the 
common  principles  of  hydraulics,  as  displayed  in  the  motion  of 
water  through  pipes  and  channels.  The  constant  waste  of  solid 


ARMSTRONG.  275 

particles  that  such  a  perpetual  current  must  produce,  demon- 
strates the  necessity  for  a  new  supply  by  means  of  somewhat 
taken  in.  Hence  naturally  follows  the  consideration  of  food,  its 
concoction,  and  the  choice  of  aliments,  solid  and  fluid,  suited  to 
persons  of  different  constitutions  and  in  different  climates.  This 
is  the  general  plan  of  the  book.  The  poet's  skill  consists  in 
taking  the  subject  out  of  the  language  and  reasonings  of  science, 
familiarising  it  by  apt  illustration,  and  diversifying  it  by  amusing 
digression.  All  this  he  has  attempted,  and  with  success. 

We  shall  not  closely  follow  his  steps  while  he  treats  of  the 
digestibility  and  salubriousness  of  different  foods,  and  lays  down 
rules  for  the  regulation  of  appetite.  The  subject,  as  we  before 
hinted,  is-  not  of  the  most  pleasing  kind,  and  it  is  apparently 
rather  from  necessity  than  choice  that  he  enters  into  it.  His 
expressions  and  images  are  strong,  but  strength  so  employed  is 
unavoidably  a  kin  to  coarseness.  A  more  agreeable  topic  is  the 
praise  of  temperance  and  simple  diet,  from  which  he  easily  slides 
into  a  beautiful  moral  passage,  showing  how  much  better  riches 
may  be  employed  than  in  the  luxuries  of  the  table — by  relieving 
indigence  and  unfriended  merit.  One  line  is  almost  unri- 
valled in  pathetic  energy, 

Though  hush'd  in  patient  wretchedness  at  home. 

The  opposite  pvils  arising  from  too  full  and  too  scanty  a  diet 
are  next  enumerated,  and  cautions  are  given  respecting  the  pro- 
gress from  one  to  the  other.  The  different  regimen  proper  for 
the  several  seasons  of  the  year  is  then  touched  upon ;  and  this 
naturally  leads  the  poet  to  open  a  new  source  of  variety  in  des- 
cription, derived  from  a  view  of  human  life  as  subsisting  in  cli- 
mates removed  to  the  two  extremes  from  our  own.  The  pic- 
ture of  the  frigid  zone  is  but  slightly  sketched ;  that  of  the  tor- 
rid regions  is  much  more  minute,  and  will  strongly  remind  the 
reader  of  a  similar  one  by  the  hand  of  Thomson ;  but  I  dare  not 
assert  that  it  will  lose  nothing  by  the  comparison.  It  is  render- 
ed less  appropriate,  by  the  enumeration  of  vegetable  articles 
which  in  reality  belong  to  very  different  climates  ;  the  cocoa  and 
anana  being  many  degrees  separated  from  the  countries  rich  in 
corn  and  wine.  The  cedar  of  Lebanon,  likewise,  as  a  native  of 
the  bleak  tops  of  high  mountains,  ought  not  to  be  placed  by  the 
side  of  the  palm  and  plantain. 

The  succeeding  passage,  however,  which  paints  the  wonders 


276  ARMSTRONG. 

of  the  Naiad  kingdom,  though  it  also  has  its  parallel  in  tin* 
Seasons,  is  not,  I  think,  surpassed  by  that,  or  any  other  poem, 
in  strength  and  grandeur  of  description.  The  awful  sublimity 
of  the  scenes  themselves  and  the  artifice  of  the  poet  in  intro 
ducing  himself  as  a  spectator,  and  marking  the  supposed  impres- 
sions on  his  own  mind,  elevate  this  piece  to  the  very  summit  of 
descriptive  poetry. 

The  praise  of  water-drinking  follows  ;  with  the  precepts  of  the 
father  of  physic  for  choosing  rightly  this  pure  and  innocent  beve- 
rage. Notwithstanding  the  apparent  earnestness  with  which  the 
poet  dwells  on  this  topic,  there  is  some  reason  to  suspect  that  he 
was  not  quite  hearty  in  the  cause.  For  he  not  only  adopts  the 
notion  of  those  who  have  recommended  an  occasional  debauch 
as  a  salutary  spur  to  nature ;  but  descanting  on  the  necessity  a 
man  may  find  himself  under  to  practise  hard  drinking  in  order 
to  promote  the  pursuits  of  ambition  or  avarice,  he  advises  him 
(between  jest  and  earnest)  to  inure  himself  to  the  trial  by  slow 
degrees.  Here  the  physician  and  sage  seem  lost  in  the  jolly  com 
panion.  He  soon,  however,  resumes  those  characters  ;  and  after 
remarking  the  tendency  of  a  continued  use  of  wine  to  bring  on 
premature  old  age,  he  digresses  into  a  theoretical  account  of  the 
process  by  which  the  animal  machine  is  gradually  impeded  in  its 
motions,  and  at  length  comes  to  a  full  stop.  This  conducts  him 
to  a  striking  termination  of  the  book,  in  a  lofty  description  of  the 
ravages  made  by  time  upon  the  works  of  human  art,  and  the  world 
itself. 

Exercise,  the  subject  of  the  third  book,  is  a  theme  more  adapt- 
ed to  poetry,  and  less  immersed  in  professional  disquisitions, 
than  that  of  the  preceding.  Its  benefits  in  the  preservation  of 
health  are  universally  known ;  and  the  poet's  task  is  rather  to 
frame  upon  it  pictures  agreeable  to  the  imagination,  than  to  treat 
of  it  in  a  closely  preceptive  or  scientific  manner.  Dr.  Armstrong 
begins  with  a  lively  portrait  of  the  rustic,  rendered  firm  and  ro- 
bust by  toil,  like  a  sturdy  oak  of  the  forest ;  and  he  produces  him 
as  a  specimen  of  the  influence  of  exercise  on  the  human  frame. 
He  then  exhorts  the  votary  of  health  to  partake  of  the  various 
kinds  of  rural  pastime,  the  walk  in  all  seasons,  the  chase,  and 
the  sport  of  fishing.  This  last  amusement  introduces  a  very 
pleasing  passage,  in  which  the  poet  characterises  various  streams, 
particularly  the  Liddel,  on  whese  pastoral  banks  he  first  drew 
breath.  The  tribute  of  affection  he  pays  to  his  native  place,  and 


ARMSTRONG.  277 

the  retrospect  of  his  own  boyish  years,  are  sweetly  interesting, 
and  vie  with  all  that  Thomson  and  Smollet  have  written  on  a 
similar  topic. 

The  species  of  exercise  afforded  by  gardening,  gives  occasion 
to  a  moral  picture,  of  a  man  retired  from  public  life,  to  the  cul- 
tivation of  his  estate,  surrounded  with  a  select  society  of  old 
companions,  of  the  same  tastes  and  pursuits  with  himself.  This 
is  wrought  so  much  in  the  manner  of  Thomson,  that  were  it  not 
for  some  difference  of  style,  it  might  pass  undistinguished  as  a 
passage  of  the  Seasons.  The  "  noctes  crenseque  deum''  of  Hor- 
ace, have  contributed  to  adorn  the  piece. 

Resuming  the  medical  consideration  of  exercise,  he  next  ad- 
verts to  its  power  in  strengthening  weak  parts  by  habitual  exer- 
tions ;  and  he  dwells  on  the  propriety  of  a  gradual  progress  from 
rest  to  labour,  and  on  the  mischiefs  attending  too  violent  and 
heedless  toils.  This  leads  him  to  a  serious  and  pathetic  apos- 
trophe on  the  fatal  effects  proceeding  from  exposure  to  cold,  or 
draughts  of  cold  liquor,  when  heated,  which  he  represents  as  the 
most  frequent  of  all  causes  of  mortal  disease.  The  ancient  use 
of  vi  arm  baths  and  unctions  after  exercise  is  his  next  topic,  in 
speaking  of  which,  he  finds  it  necessary  to  touch  upon  that  im- 
portant function  of  the  body,  insensible  perspiration.  The  strict 
connection  of  this  with  health  and  disease,  according  as  it  is  re- 
gular or  deranged,  has  been  a  favourite  argument  with  certain 
medical  schools,  and  is  here  briefly  illustrated  in  poetical  lan- 
guage. The  use  of  cold  bathing  in  steeling  the  frame  against 
the  inclemencies  of  a  cold  climate,  and  the  advantages  of  fre- 
quent ablution  in  hot  ones,  and  of  cleanliness  in  all,  are  further 
subjects  of  digression. 

He  returns  to  the  consideration  of  exercise,  as  it  is  limited 
by  recurring  changes  of  the  day  and  year;  warning  against  it 
while  the  body  is  loaded  with  food,  and  during  the  heats  of  a 
summer's  noon,  and  the  chills  of  evening.  These  preceptive  re- 
marks lead  him  to  a  vein  more  fertile  of  ideas  addressed  to  the 
imagination  ;  for  conceiving  the  day  to  be  sunk  into  the  silence 
and  gloom  of  midnight,  he  views  the  toil-spent  hind  wrapt  in  the 
arms  of  profound  repose,  the  sweet  soother  of  his  labours.  Hence 
he  digresses  to  the  subject  of  dreams,  and  paints  in  vivid  colours 
the  horrid  scenes  that  disturb  the  mind  during  the  delirium  oi 
unquiet  slumber.  The  proper  period  in  which  sleep  is  to  be  in- 
dulged, with  its  due  measure  to  different  constitutions,  are  next 


278  .  ARMSTRONG. 

considered.  The  influence  of  habit  in  this  respect,  brings  on  au 
exhortation  to  proceed  very  gradually  in  altering  every  corpo- 
real habit ;  and  this  is  made  an  introduction  to  a  description  of 
the  successive  changes  of  the  year,  with  the  distempers  they  bring. 
All  this,  and  the  remainder  of  the  book,  might  perhaps  with  great- 
er propriety  have  made  a  part  of  the  first  head;  since  its  connec- 
tion with  exercise  is  less  obvious  than  with  air.  To  introduce  in 
some  part  of  his  plan  an  account  of  epidemic  diseases  was,  how- 
ever, evidently  proper,  both  as  matter  for  important  instruction 
respecting  the  preservation  of  health,  and  as  affording  scope 
for  poetical  variety.  After  some  common  observations  on  the 
diseases  of  Spring  and  Autumn,  and  the  means  of  guarding 
against  them,  with  a  forcible  injunction  against  delay  as  soon  as 
symptoms  of  danger  appear  ;  the  poet  proceeds  to  an  imitation 
of  Virgil  and  Lucretius  in  the  particular  description  of  a  pesti- 
lence ;  and  he  very  happily  chooses  for  his  subject  the  Sweating- 
Sickness  which  first  prevailed  in  England  when  the  Earl  of  Rich- 
mond, afterwards  Henry  VII.  came  hither  on  his  expedition 
against  the  tyrant  Richard.  So  many  graphical  descriptions  in 
prose  and  verse  have  been  made  of  visitations  of  this  kind,  that 
scarcely  any  source  of  novelty  remained  in  the  general  circum- 
stances accompanying  them.  Dr.  Armstrong  has,  therefore,  ju- 
diciously introduced  as  much  as  possible  of  the  particular  cha- 
racter of  this  singular  distemper,  which,  as  far  as  we  learn,  was 
entirely  unknown  before,  and  has  never  appeared  since  that  pe- 
riod. He  has  not  even  rejected  certain  popular  errors  prevalent 
respecting  it,  which,  though  they  ought  carefully  to  be  avoided 
in  a  medical  treatise,  may  perhaps  be  permitted  to  enhance  the 
wonder  of  a  poetical  narration.  Such  is  that,  which  asserts  Eng- 
lishmen to  have  been  its  only  victims,  both  in  their  own  country 
and  abroad — a  notion  which  certainly  adds  to  the  interest  with 
which  a  native  of  this  country  reads  the  relation.  The  conclu- 
sion of  this  book  is  a  close  copy  from  Virgil  in  the  design,  suit- 
ably varied  in  the  circumstances.  The  deaths  beyond  the  Atlan- 
tic allude  to  the  unfortunate  expedition  to  Carthagena,  a  popular 
topic  of  complaint  at  that  period. 

The  title  with  which  the  fourth  and  last  book  is  inscribed,  is 
the  Passions  ;  but  its  subject  would  be  more  accurately  express- 
ed by  the  influence  of  the  mind  over  the  body — a  large  and  ele- 
vated topic,  detached  from  the  technical  matter  of  any  particular 
profession,  and  in  its  full  extent  comprising  every  thing  sublime 


ARMSTRONG.  279 

and  affecting  in  moral  poetry.  The  theory  of  the  union  of  a  spi- 
ritual principle  with  the  gross  corporeal  substance,  is  that  which 
the  writer  adopts  as  the  basis  of  his  reasonings.  It  is  this  ruling 
power  which 

Wields  at  his  will  the  dull  material  world, 
And  is  the  tody's  health  or  malady. 

He  evidently  confounds,  however,  (as  all  writers  on  this  system 
do)  matter  of  great  subtilty,  with  what  is  not  matter — or  spirit. 
These  "  viewless  atoms,"  he  says,  "  are  lost  in  thinking,"  yet 
thought  itself  is  not  the  enemy  of  life,  but  painful  thinking,  such 
as  that  proceeding  from  anxious  studies,  and  fretful  emotions. 
To  prevent  the  baneful  effects  of  these,  he  counsels  us  frequently 
to  vary  our  objects,  and  to  join  the  bodily  exercise  of  reading 
aloud,  to  the  mental  labour  of  meditation.  Solitary  brooding 
over  thoughts  of  a  particular  kind,  such,  especially,  as  pride  or 
fear  presents  to  the  imagination,  is  warned  against,  in  a  passage 
full  of  energy,  as  the  usual  parent  of  madness  or  melancholy. 
Sometimes  what  the  poet  terms  a  chronic  passion,  or  one  arising 
from  a  misfortune  which  has  made  a  lasting  impression,  such  as 
the  loss  of  a  beloved  friend,  produces  a  sympathetic  languor  in. 
the  body,  which  can  only  be  removed  by  shifting  the  scene,  and 
plunging  in  amusement  or  business.  Some  persons,  however, 
take  a  less  innocent  method  of  dispelling  grief, 

and  in  the  tempting  bowl 

Of  poison' d  nectar  sweet  oblivion  swill. 

The  immediately  exhilirating  effects,  and  the  sad  subsequent  re- 
verse, attending  this  baneful  practice,  are  here  painted  in  the 
most  vivid  colouring,  and  form  a  highly  instructive  and  pathetic 
lesson  ;  in  particular,  the  gradual  degradation  of  character  which 
it  infallibly  brings  on,  is  finely  touched. 

A  kind  of  moral  lecture  succeeds,  introduced  as  the  supposed 
precepts  of  a  sage  in  human  life,  whose  character  is  represented 
as  a  compound  of  manly  sense  and  cheerfulness.  How  to  acquire 
happiness  by  moderation  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure,  and  by  the 
practice  of  virtue,  is  the  topic  of  this  passage,  which,  though  cer- 
tainly digressive,  has,  however,  a  natural  affinity  with  the  lead- 
ing subject  of  the  book.  Virtue  has  seldom  been  characterised 
with  more  spirit  and  dignity  ;  and  trite  as  the  sentiments  are, 
the  energy  with  which  they  are  expressed  commands  attention. 


280  ARMSTRONG. 

The  poet  next  reverts  to  his  more  direct  purpose,  that  of  con- 
sidering the  passions  in  their  influence  upon  bodily  health.  In 
general,  he  lays  it  down  as  a  rule,  that  all  emotions  which  are 
pleasing  to  the  mind,  are  also  salutary  to  the  body.  But  there 
are  exceptions,  some  being  in  their  nature  prone  to  hurtful  ex- 
cess ;  as  an  instance  of  which  he  gives  the  passion  of  Love.  Here, 
again,  he  tries  his  strength  with  Thomson,  and  his  description 
cannot  but  remind  the  reader  of  the  fine  picture  of  a  love-sick 
youth  drawn  by  that  writer  in  his  Spring.  Thomson,  however, 
dwells  much  more  minutely  on  the  mental  effects  of  love.  Arm- 
strong, with  propriety,  fixes  the  attention  more  on  the  changes 
it  induces  in  the  corporeal  frame,  and  this,  boch  as  it  is  a  pas- 
sion, and  as  it  leads  to  sensual  indulgences.  With  great,  force, 
yet  with  sufficient  delicacy,  he  paints  the  condition  of  one  un- 
nerved and  exhausted  by  excess  in  amorous  delights.  This,  in- 
deed, is  deviating  from  the  express  subject  of  the  book ;  since 
love  as  a  passion,  and  the  appetite  for  sexual  enjoyment,  are  dis- 
tinct things,  the  latter  being  certainly  able  to  subsist  without 
the  former,  if  not  the  former  without  the  latter.  But  an  insen- 
sible gradation  led  him  easily  from  the  one  to  the  other. 

The  passion  of  Anger  is  his  next  theme,  and  the  bold  personi 
fication  with  which  he  has  introduced  it,  is  admirably  suited  to 
its  violent  and  precipitate  character.  A  fit  of  rage  has  frequent- 
ly been  known  at  once  to  overpower  the  vital  faculties,  and  strike 
with  instant  death.  To  guard  against  it  was  therefore  a  point 
of  peculiar  importance ;  and  the  poet  has  presented  many  strik- 
ing moral  arguments  against  the  indulgence  of  that  habit  which 
makes  us  prone  to  ungoverned  sallies  of  this  passion.  But 
where  reason  proves  too  weak  for  the  control  of  this  and  other 
unruly  affections  of  the  mind,  to  what  other  power  shall  we  re- 
sort for  aid  ?  We  may,  he  hints,  oppose  passion  to  passion,  and 
extinguish  one  by  its  opposite.  But  without  dwelling  on  this 
contrivance  (.which,  indeed,  is  neither  very  philosophical  nor 
manageable)  he  proceeds  to  recognise  a  power  in  Nature  which 
may  be  rendered  the  universal  tranquilliser  of  the  breast;  and 
this  power  is  Music.  With  a  contrasted  description  of  the  mu- 
sic which  exercises  this  sympathetic  dominion  over  the  emo- 
tions, and  that  which  is  only  the  execution  of  difficult  trifles, 
followed  by  an  allusion  to  the  fabulous  stories  of  some  ancient 
masters,  and  the  praise  of  the  art  itself,  the  poet,  somewhat  ab- 
ruptly, closes  the  book  and  the  work. 


ARMSTRONG.  281 

From  this  cursory  view  of  the  contents  of  Dr.  Armstrong's 
piece,  it  will  probably  appear,  that,  together  with  a  sufficient  va- 
riety for  the  purpose  of  amusement,  there  is  uniformity  of  de- 
sign enough  to  constitute  the  proper  character  of  a  didactic  poem. 
Almost  every  thing  essential  to  the  preservation  of  health  is 
touched  upon  during  its  course ;  and  the  digressive  parts  are 
neither  wholly  impertinent  to  the  main  object,  nor  do  they  occu- 
py a  disproportionate  space.  Many  topics  of  an  elevated  nature 
are  occasionally  introduced  ;  and  moral  -sentiment  is  agreeably 
interwoven  with  precept  and  description.  The  writer  has,  ap- 
parently, found  some  difficulty  in  adhering  to  the  arrangement 
of  his  design ;  for  neither  are  the  proposed  topics  of  the  four 
books  equally  copious  of  matter,  nor  has  he  with  precision  con- 
fined himself  to  the  subjects  belonging  to  each.  However,  as 
the  real  intention  of  such  a  work  is  not  to  afford  systematic  in- 
struction, but  to  impress  the  mind  with  detached  particulars,  and 
to  amuse  it  with  variety,  objections  in  pbint  of  method  are  little 
to  be  regarded.  If  this  performance  on  the  whole  offers  a  fund 
of  useful  advice  and  rational  entertainment  to  every  cultivated 
reader,  and  at  the  same  time  is  in  a  good  degree  what  it  pro- 
fesses to  be,  it  has  fulfilled  its  purpose. 

It  now  remains  to  consider  how  far  this  work  is  characterised 
by  any  peculiarity  of  style  and  manner. 

English  blank  verse  in  its  structure  approaches  so  nearly  to 
prose,  that  they  who  have  employed  it  on  elevated  subjects,  have 
adopted  a  variety  of  methods  to  give  it  the  stamp  of  poetry. 
Some  have  transplanted  as  much  as  possible  of  the  idiom  of  the 
ancient  languages  into  their  own.  They  have  used  words  in  un- 
common senses,  derived  rather  from  etymology  than  practice ; 
and  in  the  formation  of  sentences,  they  have  studiously  deviated 
from  the  natural  order,  and  copied  the  involutions  and  inver- 
sions of  the  Latin  and  Greek.  Others  have  enriched  their  style 
with  novel  terms  and  compound  epithets,  and  have  aimed  at  an 
uncommon  mode  of  saying  the  commonest  things.  Very  dif- 
ferent from  these  is  the  manner  of  Armstrong.  It  is  distinguish- 
ed by  its  simplicity — by  a  free  use  of  words  which  owe  their 
strength  to  their  plainness — by  the  rejection  of  ambitious  orna- 
ments, and  a  near  approach  to  common  phraseology.  His  sen- 
tences are  generally  short  and  easy,  his  sense  clear  and  obvious. 
The  full  extent  of  his  conceptions  is  taken  at  the  first  glance  ; 
and  there  are  no  lofty  mysteries  to  be  unravelled  by  repeated 
Nn 


ARMSTRONG. 

perusal.  What  keeps  his  language  from  being  prosaic,  is  the 
vigour  of  his  sentiments.  He  thinks  boldly,  feels  strongly,  and 
therefore  expresses  himself  poetically.  Where  the  subject  sinks, 
his  style  sinks  with  it;  but  he  has  for  the  most  part  excluded 
topics  incapable  either  of  vivid  description,  or  of  the  oratory  of 
sentiment.  He  had  from  nature  a  musical  ear,  whence  his  lines 
are  scarcely  ever  harsh,  and  are  usually  melodious,  though  ap- 
parently without  much  study  to  render  them  so.  Perhaps  he  has 
not  been  careful  enough  to  avoid  the  monotony  of  making  seve- 
ral successive  lines  close  with  a  rest  or  pause  in  the  sense.  On 
the  whole,  it  may  not  be  too  much  to  assert,  that  no  writer  in 
blank  verse  can  be  found  more  free  from  stiffness  and  affectation, 
more  energetic  without  harshness,  and  more  dignified  without 
formality. 


AN  ESSAY 

ON 

THE   POEMS    OF 


"  MR.  MATTHEW  GREEN  was  of  a  family  in  good  repute 
amongst  the  Dissenters,  and  had  his  education  in  the  sect.  He  was 
a  man  of  approved  probity  and  sweetness  of  temper  and  man- 
ners. His  wit  abounded  in  conversation,  and  was  never  known 
to  give  the  least  offence.  He  had  a  post  in  the  Custom  House, 
and  discharged  th'e  duty  there  with  the  utmost  diligence  and 
ability.  He  died  at  the  age  of  forty-one  years,  at  a  lodging  in 
Nag's  Head  Court,  Gracechurch  Street." — Dodsley's  Collection 
of  Poems,  vol.  1. 

In  the  productions  of  poetry,  as  in  those  of  the  other  fine  artss 
not  only  is  consummate  excellence  in  every  point  which  contri- 
butes to  the  perfection  of  a  work  extremely  rare,  but  a  high  de- 
gree of  it  in  any  one  of  these  points  is  not  frequently  to  be  met 
with.  If,  as  has  been  done  with  respect  to  painting  and  music, 
a  scale  were  to  be  framed  for  poetical  merit,  in  which  all  the 
principal  qualities  belonging  to  the  art,  such  as  invention,  versi- 
fication, diction,  pathos,  and  the  like,  were  placed  at  the  head  of 
separate  divisions  with  a  number  annexed  denoting  the  max- 
imum  of  each, — how  few  poets  could  be  found  who  might  fairly 
be  said  to  have  reached  that  highest  degree  even  in  one  of  these; 
how  much  fewer,  who  have  approached  it  in  several  ! 

In  considering  such  a  scale,  it  might  be  a  question  whether 
the  poet  who  stood  at  a  medium  height  in  all  of  the  divisions,  OF 
he  who  was  at  the  top  in  one  or  two,  and  near  the  bottom  in  the 
rest,  were  the  better  artist ;  but  it  could  be  no  question  whether 
the  latter  or  the  former  were  the  greater  genius.  Excellence  in 
one  point  will  ever  deserve  a  praise,  to  which  mediocrity  in  many 
cannot  arrive ;  and  though  its  productions  may  afford  less  of  the 
calm  delight  received  from  performances  in  which  taste  and  skill 


<2S4  GREEN 

secure  moderate  satisfaction  and  preclude  disgust,  yet  they 
will  better  deserve  the  study  and  admiration  of  a  true  lover  ot 
the  art. 

It  would  be  easy  to  enumerate  various  works  of  English  poe- 
try possessed  of  this  partial  or  disproportionate  excellence  ;  and 
several  of  them  maintain  their  place  as  acknowledged  specimens 
of  true  genius,  though  perhaps  they  are  more  admired  than  read. 
But  the  celebrity  of  writers  depends  much  upon  accidental  cir- 
cumstances ;  and  if,  in  particular,  we  examine  the  share  of  fame 
obtained  by  our  minor  poets,  whose  performances  have  not  mass 
enough  to  fill  a  considerable  space  in  the  public  eye,  we  shall 
find  it  very  far  from  commensurate  with  their  proportion  of  merit. 
Besides  the  advantages  bestowed  by  high  patronage  and  con- 
nections, and  the  praise  of  cotemporaries  of  name  and  reputation, 
there  are  certain  merits  more  obvious  to  the  generality  of  rea- 
ders than  others  of  a  superior  order,  as  well  as  certain  topics  more 
popular  and  interesting  than  others.  Thus  it  has  happened,  that 
the  soft  and  harmonious  elegies  of  Hammond,  referring  to  a  pas- 
sion familiar  to  all  the  readers  of  poetry,  and  replete  with  senti- 
ments pleasing  and  natural,  though  none  of  them  original  to  the 
writer,  and  sometimes  bordering  on  triteness  and  insipidity — 
have  had  much  more  fortune  in  the  world  than  the  pieces  of 
Green,  distinguished  as  they  are  by  brilliancy  and  originality  of 
thought,  but  singular  in  their  subject  and  somewhat  uncouth  in 
their  manner. 

The  writer  before  us  was  neither  by  education  nor  situation 
in  life  qualified  to  attain  skill  in  those  constituent  parts  of  poe- 
tical composition  upon  which  much  of  its  elegance  and  beauty 
depend.  He  had  not,  like  a  Gray  or  a  Collins,  his  mind  early 
fraught  with  all  the  stores  of  classic  literature ;  nor  could  he  de- 
vote months  and  years  of  learned  leisure  to  the  exquisite  charms 
of  versification  or  the  refined  ornaments  of  diction.  He  was  a 
man  of  business,  who  had  only  the  intervals  of  his  regular  em- 
ployment to  improve  his  mind  by  reading  and  reflection  ;  and 
his  poems  appear  to  have  been  truly  no  more  than  hasty  effu- 
sions for  the  amusement  of  himself  and  his  particular  friends. 
Numbers  of  works  thus  produced  are  born  and  die  in  the 
circle  of  every  year ;  and  it  is  only  by  the  stamp  of  real  ge- 
nius that  these  have  been  preserved  from  a  similar'  fate.  But 
nature  had  bestowed  on  the  author  a  strong  and  quick  con- 
ception, and  a  wonderful  power  of  bringing  together  remote 


GIIEEN.  285 

ideas  so  as  to  produce  the  most  novel  and  striking  effects. 
No  man  ever  thought  more  copiously  or  with  more  orginality ; 
no  man  ever  less  fell  into  the  beaten  track  of  common  place 
ideas  and  expressions.  That  cant  of  poetical  phraseology  which 
is  the  only  resource  of  an  ordinary  writer,  and  which  those  of 
a  superior  class  find  it  difficult  to  avoid,  is  scarcely  any  where 
to  be  met  with  in  him.  He  has  no  hackneyed  combinations  of 
substantives  and  epithets ;  none  of  the  tropes  and  figures  of  a 
school  boy's  Gradus.  Often  negligent,  something  inaccurate,  and 
not  unfrequently  prosaic,  he  redeems  his  defects  by  a  rapid  va- 
riety of  beauties  and  brilliancies  all  his  own,  and  affords  more 
food  to  the  understanding  or  imagination  in  a  line  or  a  couplet, 
than  common  writers  in  half  a  page.  In  short,  if  in  point  of 
versification,  regularity,  and  correctness,  his  place  is  scarcely 
assignable  among  the  poets  ;  in  the  rarer  qualities  of  variety  and 
vigour  of  sentiment,  and  novelty  and  liveliness  of  imagery,  it 
would  not  be  easy  to  find  any,  in  modern  times  at  least,  who 
has  a  right  to  rank  above  him. 

The  longest  and  most  elaborate  of  Mr.  Green's  compositions, 
and  that  by  which  he  is  best  known,  is  an  epistolatory  piece  en- 
titled The  fepleen,  of  which  the  ingenious  and  elegant  Mr.  Mel- 
moth  has  said,  "  that  there  are  more  original  thoughts  thrown  to- 
gether than  ever  he  had  read  in  the  same  compass  of  lines." 
The  writer  calls  it  a  motley  performance,  and  apologises  for  its 
want  of  method :  a  general  subject  may,  however,  be  traced 
through  it,  which  is,  the  art  of  attaining  a  tranquil  state  of  mind, 
undisturbed  by  vexatious  emotions  and  gloomy  imaginations,  and 
free  from  that  mixture  of  listlessness  and  melancholy  which  has 
been  denominated  the  Spleen.  For  this  purpose,  a  sort  of  regi- 
men for  the  soul  is  laid  down,  consisting  chiefly  in  the  practice 
of  an  easy  good  humoured  philosophy,  resembling  that  of  Horace 
in  his  gay  but  sober  mood,  and  comprising  the  best  practical 
Epicurean  system  that  has,  perhaps,  ever  been  sketched  out. 
To  speculate  upon  the  various  scenes  of  human  life  without  deep- 
ly engaging  in  them  ;  to  indulge  the  excursions  of  fancy,  but  to 
restrain  conduct  by  the  reins  of  prudence  ;  to  give  free  entrance 
to  all  musive  and  agreeable  objects,  and  carefully  to  exclude  all 
of  an  opposite  kind — are  the  principal  heads  of  his  didactic  mat- 
ter. But  it  appears  to  have  been  no  small  part  of  his  design,  to 
take  the  occasion  his  subject  afforded,  of  bestowing  strokes  of  sa- 
tire en  passant ;  at  the  same  time  that  a  fixed  antipathy  to  those 


£86  GREEN. 

high  claims  upon  our  belief  and  acquiescence  which  cramp  the 
exertions  of  reason  and  liberty,  and  a  tendency  to  free  specula- 
tion concerning  theological  topics,  are  sufficiently  discernible 
throughout  the  piece.  It  is  not  the  purpose  of  this  Essay  to  give 
a  moral  or  philosophical  comment  upon  the  author's  system. 
Readers  may  take  what  they  approve  of  it — and  surely  much 
may  be  approved — without  embarrassing  themselves  about  the 
rest.  It  is  thus  that  Horace  is  read  by  all  his  rational  admirers. 
Meantime,  as  all  we  know  of  Mr.  Green  authorises  us  to  believe 
that  he  led  an  innocent  and  useful  life  we  may  conclude  that 
he,  at  least,  received  no  injury  from  his  speculative  tenets ;  de- 
serving, on  this  account,  a  praise  the  opposite  of  that  bestow- 
ed by  Dr.  Johnson  on  some  of  the  subjects  of  his  biographical 
sketches,  who  are  commended  for  the  stedfastness  with  which 
they  held  orthodox  opinions,  in  the  midst  of  worthless  and  li- 
centious lives. 

To  proceed  to  a  more  particular  survey  of  the  poem : — The 
author,  after  an  introduction  in  which,  with  great  truth,  he  dis- 
claims plagiarism,  represents  his  purpose  to  be,  that  of  replying 
to  his  friend's  question, "  what  method  he  took  to  keep  off  attacks 
of  the  Spleen,  and  preserve  serenity  through  the  storms  of  the 
world."  He  sets  out  with  a  novel  and  very  appropriate  image 
of  this  noxious  being,  whom  he  represents  as  holding  a  magic 
lanthorn,  by  means  of  which  he  throws  frightful  figures  upon  the 
scene  of  life — an  idea  thought  worthy  of  being  copied  in  one  of 
the  designs  with  which  the  poem  has  been  decorated. 

The  corporeal  regimen  prescribed  against  the  Spleen  consists 
of  temperance  and  exercise.  The  early  hours  of  the  hunter, 
whose  sport  he  recommends,  gives  occasion  to  a  spirited  picture 
of  morning  freeing  herself  from  the  defilements  of  the  night,  and 
triumphantly  mounting  the  skies,  which  affords  a  specimen  of 
his  talents  for  inventive  description;  as  the  well  known  line  con- 
cerning exercise, 

Fling  but  a  stone,  the  giant  dies, 

does  of  his  singular  turn  for  ingenious  allusion. 

A  satirical  and  entertaining  enumeration  follows,  of  objects 
proper  to  dispel  Spleen  by  the  ridicule  they  excite.  This  is 
succeeded  by  a  description  of  the  effects  of  theatrical  represen- 
tations, and  music,  in  harmonising  the  soul ; — which,  however, 


GREEN.  287 

cannot  be  much  praised  for  originality.  The  description  of  a 
rainy  day  and  its  resources  has  more  novelty ;  and  the  simile  of 
the  flying  fish,  with  the  allusions  to  the  ark,  and  the  manna  of 
the  Israelites,  are  striking  specimens  of  the  author's  peculiar 
manner.  It  may  be  remarked  respecting  Green,  (and  I  believe 
the  remark  would  apply  to  many  other  writers  educated  among 
the  Dissenters)  that  he  abounds  in  references  to  scripture  his- 
tory ;  a  habit  derived  from  early  familiarity  with  those  writings, 
which  has  not  unfrequently  survived  any  particular  veneration 
for  their  authority. 

There  is  much  feeling  as  well  as  fancy  in  the  testimony  given 
to  the  power  possessed  by  the  fair  sex  in  banishing  intrusions  of 
Spleen.  The  contrast  of  black  eyes  and  blue  eyes  is  very  strik- 
ing ;  and  the  allusion  to  the  miracle  of  St.  Januarius's  head  is 
one  of  the  most  ingenious  in  the  piece.  The  succeeding  grave 
censure  on  modern  female  education  may  suggest  useful  reflec- 
tions ;  yet  few,  it  may  be  supposed,  will  now  concur  in  the  ad- 
vice to  confine  girls  for  their  security  within  "the  safe  high  wall 
of  ignorance." 

What  to  avoid,  is  the  next  topic  of  the  author's  friendly  ad- 
monition. At  the  head  of  the  particulars  enumerated  he  places, 
properly  enough,  that  species  of  religion  which  inculcates  gloomy 
and  desponding  ideas.  With  no  less  prudence  he  cautions  against 
going  to  law  ;  and  his  allegory  of  a  forest  may  by  lawyers  them- 
selves be  admitted  to  be  happily  sustained.  In  warning  against 
party  strife,  he  takes  occasion  to  characterise  the  two  leading 
parties  in  church  as  they  existed  at  his  day.  The  contrast  is 
drawn  with  truth  and  humour;  but  the  force  of  his  satirical  wit 
Is  principally  expended  on  the  ptiritannical  sect,  the  rigid  and 
unamiable  manners  of  which  had  very  commonly  the  effect  of  dis- 
gusting most  those  who  from  birth  and  education  took  the  near- 
est survey  of  them. 

The  nature  and  motives  of  the  writer's  present  conformity  are 
then  explicitly  stated.  Not  able  to  satisfy  his  doubts,  he  resorts 
to  the  laws  for  a  decision,  and  goes  "  to  Mecca  with  the  cara- 
van." As  a  consequence  of  such  a  principle,  it  is  not  extraor- 
dinary to  find  him  renouncing  all  "  reforming  schemes,"  the  end 
of  which  he  seems  to  think  absolutely  unattainable,  and  therefore 
rather  chooses  to  laugh  at  the  follies  of  mankind,  than  run  the 
hazard  of  making  himself  unhappy  by  "baffled  zeal.*'  In  this 
conclusion  he  appears  more  consistent  than  he  is  in  the  subse- 


288  GREEN. 

quent  exceptions  made  in  favour  of  a  zeal  for  civil  liberty  and 
freedom  of  the  press.  But  the  fact  probably  was,  that  his  origi- 
nal habits  of  thinking,  as  well  as  the  prevailing  spirit  of  the 
times,  preserved  his  attachments  to  the  latter,  while  scepticism 
and  the  practice  of  occasional  conformity  had  subdued  his  regard 
for  religious  truth.  The  passage,  however,  in  which  he  main- 
tains the  cause  of  liberty  and  knowledge,  is  striking  and  spirit- 
ed ;  and  there  is  much  pregnant  truth  in  the  concluding  remark, 
that  they  who  apply  the  gag,  always  rob  first. 

He  proceeds  in  his  enumeration  of  the  things  to  be  avoided,  as 
parents  of  disappointment  and  chagrin.  A  very  lively  and  ap- 
propriate image  of  Fortune,  or  rather  Court-favour,  is  given  in 
the  similitude  of  a  figure  sportively  throwing  the  reflected  light 
of  a  mirror  into  the  eyes  of  a  gaping  crowd.  Like  many  other 
poets,  Green  is  a  declaimer  against  his  own  art ;  and  indulges  in 
some  lively  strictures  upon  those  who  mistake  a  fond  desire  after 
poetical  fame,  for  real  talents,  as  well  as  upon  those  who  sup- 
port their  claims  to  reputation  by  plagiarism  and  artifice.  The 
denomination  of  "  the  hop-grounds  of  the  brain"  given  to  verse, 
is  peculiarly  happy.  His  praise  of  Glover,  another  citizen-poet 
of  distinguished  merit,  is  liberal  and  affectionate. 

Quitting  admonition  and  satire,  he  comes  at  length  to  the  direct 
means  of  procuring  happiness  in  life  ;  and  having  preluded  with 
a  rapturous  address  to  contentment,  he  pours  forth  his  sweetest 
strains,  and  the  most  pleasing  effusions  of  his  fancy,  in  a  wish. 
Many  poets  have  anticipated  him  in  the  indolent  amusement  of 
building  castles  in  the  air ;  but  I  know  not  if  any  one  has  been 
so  successful  in  delineating  a  scene  captivating  to  the  lover  of 
rural  beaut}-  and  philosophic  retirement.  It  is  equally  delightful 
as  a  piece  of  landscape  painting,  and  as  a  moral  portraiture  ;  and 
the  plan  of  life  it  lays  down  is  a  happy  medium  between  that  of 
the  contemplative  sage,  and  of  the  rational  man  of  the  world, 
who  knows  how  to  appreciate  its  comforts  and  enjoyments. 

He  next  touches  upon  a  higher  topic,  and  with  the  seriousness 
of  one  friend  addressing  another,  displays  his  sentiments  con- 
cerning the  prospects  of  a  future  existence.  Whatever  be  thought 
of  his  mode  of  philosophising,  it  will  not  be  denied  that  the  whole 
passage  is  eminently  distinguished  by  his  characteristic  vigour 
of  expression  and  liveliness  of  fancy  ;  and  the  spirited  assertion 
of  a  free  right  to  private  judgment,  uncontroled  by  those  who 
boast  themselves  "  lords  of  the  manor  of  the  soul/'  will  meet  with 


GREEN.  £89 

the  concurrence  of  all  whom  such  a  writer  could  in  any  degree 
expect  to  please.  The  address  to  the  Creator,  suddenly  checked 
by  a  consciousness  of  incapacity,  and  terminating  in  '-mute  praise 
and  humble  negatives,"  almost  reaches  the  sublime. 

The  allegory  representing  human  life  as  a  voyage,  with  which 
the  piece  concludes,  is  an  extremely  hackneyed  one.  It  may  be 
traced  through  poets  of  various  periods  and  nations  ;  and,  in  par- 
ticular, has  been  more  than  once  employed  by  Horace,  in  pas- 
sages in  every  one's  memory.  But  perhaps  it  can  no  where  be 
met  with  applied  with  so  much  exactness,  and  with  such  a  varie- 
ty of  circumstances,  as  in  the  present  instance.  Reason  sitting 
at  the  helm  of  the  vessel,  the  Passions  forming  the  crew,  Philo- 
sophy putting  forth  the  lights,  Experience  employing  the  glass 
and  lead,  the  careening  places  of  Bath  and  Tunbridge,  and  the 
dolphins  sporting  around,  all  together  compose  a  wonderfully 
animated  picture,  clear  in  its  conception,  and  happy  in  its  re- 
semblance. 

Such  is  this  singular  poem  on  the  Spleen,  which  few  persons, 
it  is  imagined,  will  once  read,  without  frequent  re-perusals,  every 
one  of  which  will  be  repaid  by  new  discoveries  of  uncommon 
and  ingenious  turns  of  thought.  It  possesses  that  undoubted 
mark  of  excellence,  the  faculty  of  impressing  the  memory  with 
many  of  its  strong  sentiments  and  original  images  :  and  perhaps 
not  more  lines  of  Hudibras  itself  have  been  retained  by  its  ad- 
mirers, than  of  this  poem. 

The  Epigram  on  Echard's  and  Burnet's  Histories,  and  The 
Sparrow  and  Diamond,  are  sprightly  trifles,  on  which  it  is  unne- 
iiessary  to  bestow  any  remarks. 

The  Seeker  is  a  curious  piece  of  theological  painting  in  the 
humorous  style,  the  figures  of  which  many  will  recognise  to  be 
drawn  from  the  life. 

The  poem  on  Barclay's  Apology  for  the  Quakers  is  written 
perfectly  in  the  manner  of  the  serious  and  philosophical  part 
of  The  Spleen ;  and  is,  indeed,  an  admirable  piece,  clear  and 
correct  in  its  language,  and  full  of  original  thoughts.  The  de- 
scription of  the  retired  votary,  receiving  in  silence  and  self  an- 
nihilation the  visitation  of  the  spirit,  is  very  striking  and  poeti- 
cal, and  renders  solemn  and  impressive  what  has  more  com- 
monly been  represented  in  a  ludicrous  manner.  The  sentence, 

For  5-0  ''iv  •••<   :»i'd  piirn  a  gut-si 

The  emptiest  rooms  are  lurhish'd  best, 

0  o 


290  GREEN. 

is,  indeed,  capable  of  a  sinister  interpretation ;  but  from  the 
general  air  of  the  passage,  he  could  not  intend  a  sarcasm  in  this 
place ;  and  the  emptiness  must  mean  no  more  than  what  proceeds 
from  the  temporary  exclusion  of  external  objects.  Though  there 
is  an  occasional  sportiveness  in  his  manner  there  seems  no  rea- 
son to  doubt  that  he  was  in  earnest  in  his  approbation  of  the 
Quaker  system,  at  least  so  far  as  to  reckon  it  .the  nearest  ap- 
proach to  pure  Christianity;  and  his  allusion  to  the  case  of  king 
Agrippa  fairly  displays  the  state  of  his  mind.  His  apologies  for 
not  openly  adopting  the  principles  he  approves,  have  all  the  ap- 
pearance of  sincerity,  and  are  such  as  will  touch  the  heart  of 
every  reader  whose  situation  in  life  prevents  him  from  acting  up 
to  his  convictions.  The  honest  confession, 

Like  you  I  think,  but  cannot  live 

might  become  many  characters  of  higher  pretension  than  Mr. 
Green. 

The  most  singular  of  our  author's  poems  is  entitled  The  Grotto, 
and  was  written  on  the  erection  of  one  of  those  edifices  in  Rich- 
mond Gardens  by  queen  Caroline.  It  is  not  easy  to  say  what 
sort  of  a  poem  such  a  subject  should  naturally  produce  ;  but  we 
may  be  assured  that  from  no  other  pen  would  it  have  produced 
any  thing  similar  to  the  present.  Yet,  digressive  as  it  is,  we  may 
discern  a  general  design  running  throught  it,  that  of  considering 
the  Grotto  as 

A  temple  from  vain  glories  free, 
Whose  goddess  is  Philosophy  ; 

an  idea  suggested  as  well  by  the  character  of  the  elevated  per- 
sonage who  built  it,  as  by  the  busts  of  the  great  men  with  which 
it  was  furnished.  This  edifice  is  the  same  that  Pope  invidiously 
calls  the  "hermitage"  in  which  Dr.  Clark  was  improperly  placed; 
but  no  one  free  from  party  prejudice  will  think  that  he  disgraces 
his  company.  The  variety  of  thoughts  which  our  author  has 
found  means  to  connect  by  his  plan  is  very  extraordinary,  and 
many  of  them  are  truly  admirable,  though  we  may  sometimes 
"  wonder  how  the  devil  they  came  there."  The  character  of  the 
heathen  deities,  and  the  necessity  imputed  to  them  of  "  recruit- 
ing from  earth's  first  commoners,"  are  excellent  strokes  of  sa- 
tire. The  c  j.iipuns. <n  of  the  insect  tribe  with  the  human  race 
is  lively,  but  one  does  not  see  what  insects  have  peculiarly  to  do 
with  a  grotto. 


GREEN.  291 

One  of  the  best  and  most  appropriate  passages  is  the  enumera- 
tion of  things  which  should,  as  it  were,  be  exorcised  from  this 
sacred  spot.  Many  of  them  are  characterised  with  peculiar  feli- 
city, as  scandal,  adulation,  spleen,  and  prophecy.  The  mention 
of  Melancholy  among  the  group,  serves  to  bring  in  the  writer's 
Delia,  whom  we  may  suppose  to  be  some  favourite  fair,  too  much 
addicted  to  gloom  and  low  spirits.  She  is  made  the  vehicle  of 
some  very  sprightly  and  poetical  description,  though  perfectly 
digressive  from  the  topic  of  the  piece.  The  comparison  of  the 
soul  in  a  pensive  fit  to  a  sick  linnet,  and  that  of  the  tearful  circle 
round  the  eye  to  a  halo  about  the  moon,  are  highly  ingenious ; 
and  the  enumeration  of  superstitious  terrors  is  well  conceived. 
Were  we  inclined  to  moralise  on  the  occasion,  it  might  be  sug- 
gested, that  this  disposition  to  indulge  in  gloomy  and  terrific 
imaginations  has  been  too  much  encouraged  by  some  late  works 
of  fiction,  which  have  delighted  in  painting  with  all  the  strength 
of  pencil 

•  in  antique  hall 

The  moonlight  monsters  on  the  wall ; 
And  shadowy  spectres  darkly  pass 
Trailing  their  sables  o'er  the  grass. 

After  this  excursion,  the  poet  returns  to  his  exorcism,  forbid- 
ding the  entrance  of  the  grotto  to  various  other  inauspicious  be- 
ings, amo^ng  whom  the  bigot  is  well  characterised,  as  confined  to 
look  one  way  only 

Through  blinkers  of  authority. 

He  then  invokes  the  proper  nymph  of  the  place,  who  seems  to  be 
the  Urania  mentioned  in  a  former  part  of  the  piece,  and  allots 
her  the  fit  companions,  reason,  religion,  philosophy,  and  morals, 
. — religion  having  first  ceased  "  crusading  against  sense,"  and 
renewed  her  ancient  alliance  with  philosophy.  He  represents 
nature  as  smiling  at  the  nymph's  presence,  and  zephyr  "  playing 
with  her  curls  instead  of  leaves."  In  conclusion,  he  raises  the 
fair  sex  to  the  upper  seats  of  the  shrine,  and  pursues  a  very  fan- 
ciful parallel  between  the  female  form  and  mind,  and  some  of 
the  phenomena  of  nature.  The  poem  terminates  wif  h  a  just  com- 
pliment to  the  royal  founder  of  the  grotto,  who,  though  a  queen 
prised  the  friends  of  freedom,  and  canonised  wise  men  though  a 
woman. 


292  GREEN. 

It  appears  that  this  piece  was  printed  at  its  first  composition, 
but  not  published.  Probably  the  author  was  sensible  that  it  was 
likely  neither  to  be  relished  nor  understood  by  the  common  readers 
of  grotto  poetry.  Indeed,  it  is  not  calculated  to  give  out  its  beau- 
ties, or  its  meaning,  to  a  single  perusal ;  yet  it  will  amply  repay 
a  closer  examination.  Why  it  was  to  pass  under  the  name  of  "a 
Fisherman  of  Brentford"  is  not  apparent.  Certainly,  it  is  ex- 
tremely remote  from  the  simple  and  rustic  character  which  would 
suit  a  supposed  author  of  that  class. 

The  poems  of  Green,  which  have  hitherto  appeared  chiefly  or 
solely  in  miscellaneous  collections,  do  not  seem  favourably  placed 
in  them,  since  the  reader,  in  the  midst  of  a  variety  of  lig-ht  and 
agreeable  pieces,  is  apt  to  overlook  those  of  more  thought  and 
solidity,  especially  if  they  have  any  thing  forbidding  in  their  first 
aspect.  If  their  separate  publication  shall  mark  them  out  more 
pointedly  to  the  lovers  of  English  poetry,  it  is  presumed  that  the 
writer's  fame  and  the  reader's  pleasure  will  receive  an  equal 
accession. 


A 
CRITICAL  ESSAY 

ON 

a2 

OF 

THE   CHASE. 


THE  true  idea  of  a  didactic  poem  being  once  established — that 
its  real  purpose  is  not  to  teach,  but  to  amuse  under  the  semblance 
of  teaching — it  will  remain  to  be  considered,  what  kinds  of  sub- 
jects afford  the  happiest  themes  for  these  compositions.  The 
two  great  requisites  appear  to  be,  interest  and  variety.  With 
out  the  former,  the  work  will  prove  insipid ;  without  the  latter 
tedious.  The  first  point  is  secured  by  choosing  a  topic  which 
is  capable  of  rousing  the  passions,  or,  at  least,  of  agitating  the 
mind  by  lively  emotions.  The  second  is  attained  by  frequent 
changes  of  scenery,  and  a  due  mixture  of  images  derived  from 
1he  senses  and  the  understanding. 

The  subject  of  the  poem  before  us  will,  it  is  presumed,  be  ge- 
nerally thought  to  possess  both  these  advantages  in  no  incon- 
siderable degree.  As  far  as  instinctive  propensities  can  be  at- 
tributed to  man,  it  may  be  asserted  that  he  has  ever,  in  almost 
all  the  different  states  of  society  in  which  he  has  been  placed, 
exhibited  a  native  passion  for  the  chase  ;  and  he  may,  perhaps, 
be  denominated  a  hunting  animal,  with  as  much  propriety  as  the 
dog  or  the  panther.  Like  the  former  of  these,  he  receives  de- 
light from  the  chase  itself,  independently  of  the  acquisition  ;  for 
it  is  found,  that  no  degree  of  plenty  obtained  by  the  labours  of 
others,  or  by  exertions  of  a  different  kind,  has  been  able  to  sub- 
due that  ardour  by  which  many  are  impelled  to  incur  hardships, 
fatigues,  and  even  dangers,  in  pursuit  of  an  object,  which  would 


294  SOMERVILLE. 

be  perfectly  trifling,  were  it  not  for  the  gratification  experienced 
in  the  very  pursuit.     What  but  the  chase   (or  war,  which  is  an 
image  of  it,)  can  urge  the  rich  man  to  forego  the  pleasures  of 
luxurious  indolence,  and  submit  to  privations  and  bodily  suffer- 
ings which  for  a  time  put  him  upon  a  level  with  the  lowest  of 
his  train  ? — while  the  poor  man  is  equally  prone  to  encounter' 
hazards  of  all  kinds  for  the  sake  of  a  participation  in  the  same 
animating  delights.     M.  de  Saussure,  in  his  travels  among  the 
Alps,  giving  an  account  of  the  dangerous  sport  of  chamois-hunt- 
ing, relates  the  following  circumstance.     "  I  knew  a  young  man, 
of  an  engaging  figure  and  countenance,  just  married  to  a  charm- 
ing woman,  who,  in  conversing  upon  this  subject,  said  to  me, 
My  grandfather  died  in  the  chase,  so  did  my  father,  and  so  per- 
suaded am  I  that  the  same  will  be  my  destiny,  that  I  call  this 
sack  which  I  take  with  me  on  my  hunting  expeditions,  my  wind- 
ing-sheet, because  I  am  certain  I  shall  have  no  other.     And  yet> 
Sir,  were  you  to  offer  to  make  my  fortune  on  condition  of  my  re- 
nouncing chamois-hunting,  I  would  not  comply."     Within  two 
years  the  poor  man's  prediction  was  verified.     M.  de  Saussure, 
in  accounting  for  this  extraordinary  passion,  which  could  not  be 
excited  by  any  reasonable  hopes  of  profit,  justly  attributes  its 
power  to  the  alternations  of  hope  and  fear,  and  the  perpetual 
agitation  of  the  mind  from  these  strong  emotions,  which  actuate 
the  hunter  as  they  do  the  gamester,  the  warrior,  and  the  navi- 
gator. 

With  respect  to  the  variety  afforded  by  the  chase  as  a  subject 
for  the  poet,  it  is  considerable,  not  only  in  direct  description, 
but  in  digressive  and  incidental  matter.  The  speculatist,  who 
is  inclined  to  take  a  wide  range,  may  descant  on  various  topics 
of  philosophy  and  natural  history  connected  with  it;  such  as  the 
separate  powers  of  instinct  and  education  in  animals,  the  oppo- 
site laws  of  preservation  and  destruction  in  the  economy  of  na- 
ture, the  influence  of  climate  and  season,  and  the  moral  effects 
of  the  passion  for  the  chase.  If  to  these  be  added,  historical  di- 
gressions relative  to  the  manners  of  different  stages  of  society 
and  periods  of  the  world  with  respect  to  this  object,  intermixed, 
perhaps,  with  a  portion  of  mythology,  which  might  without  force 
be  introduced,  it  will  appear,  that  a  poem  on  hunting  may  pos- 
sess compass  and  elevation  enough  to  prove  interesting  even  to 
those  who  are  not  practically  attached  to  the  sports  of  the  field. 

The  poem  of  Mr.  Somerville,  however,  is  much  less  a  philoso- 


SOMERVILLE,  295 

phicai  than  it  is  a  descriptive  one.  The  writer  was  a  real,  not 
a  speculative,  sportsman;  and  it  was  not  till  fixed  to  his  elbow- 
chair  by  infirmity,  that  he  thought  of  writing  on  the  chase,  in- 
stead of  following  it.  Classically  educated,  but,  as  it  appears, 
with  a  mind  not  remarkably  opened  by  habits  of  investigation, 
or  elevated  by  images  of  the  fancy,  he  has  produced  a  piece,  the 
principal  excellence  of  which  consists  in  pictures  drawn  from  the 
life,  and  animated  by  the  warm  genuine  feelings  of  the  painter. 
The  language,  the  sentiments,  the  incidents,  all  display  perfect 
acquaintance  with  the  scenes  described ;  and  in  hurrying  from 
narration  to  narration,  with  little  interposition  of  digressive  and 
fanciful  matter,  he  seems  rather  borne  directly  onward  by  his 
ardour  for  a  favourite  subject,  than  boundejd  by  incapacity  for 
excursive  flights.  By  his  manner  of  writingSJie  has  certainly  at- 
tained that  which  should  be  the  principal  aim  of  every  writer, 
whether  in  verse  or  prose — he  has  deeply  interested  his  reader 
in  his  descriptions,  and  has  placed  every  thing  before  the  ima- 
gination in  the  strong  light  and  vivid  colours  of  reality.  But 
the  merit  of  the  work  is  not  confined  to  truth  and  spirit  alone. 
Its  plan  and  arrangement  are  formed  with  competent  skill ;  va- 
riety and  contrast  are  studied  with  success;  and  the  attempt,  at 
least,  to  break  the  uniformity  of  description  by  the  intermixture 
of  sentiment  and  reflection  has  not  been  neglected. 

To  proceed  to  a  more  particular  examination  of  the  poem: — 
After  a  dedicatory  address  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  in  strains 
sufficiently  adulatory,  the  writer  gives  a  slight  sketch  of  the  ori- 
gin of  hunting  in  times  of  barbarism,  and  of  its  introduction  in 
a  more  polished  form  into  this  island.  The  brevity  with  which 
he  passes  over  these  topics,  certainly  not  unfertile  of  poetical 
ideas,  proves  his  impatience  to  quit  speculation  and  conjecture 
for  the  realities  of  description.  A  short  but  spirited  passage  on 
the  praises  of  Britain,  next  introduces  the  proposed  subject  of 
the  work,  declared  in  an  address  to  the  youth  of  hereditary  land- 
ed property;  and  the  poet  feelingly  alludes  to  his  own  situation, 
prevented  by  years  and  infirmities  from  joining  in  the  pleasures 
of  the  chase,  but  still  recalling  with  delight  his  former  triumphs, 
and  pleased  to  point  out  to  others  the  way  to  like  renown. 

The  proper  business  of  the  book  commences  with  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  dog-kennel,  in  which  he  soon  exhibits  his  talent  for 
accurate  and  lively  painting,  by  representations  of  the  pack  is- 
suing forth  in  the  morning,  oppressed  by  the  fervor  of  noon. 


:%  SOMERV1LLK. 

bathing  in  the  cool  stream,  sporting  with  each  other,  and  engag- 
ing in  broils  and  combats.  A  particular  and  beautiful  descrip- 
tion of  the  hare  hound  or  beagle  succeeds,  which  is  followed  by 
a  sketch  of  other  kinds,  adapted  for  different  departments  of  the 
chase.  This  introduces  a  digression  concerning  the  blood-hounds 
which  were  formerly  kept  on  the  Scottish  border,  and  employed 
in  detecting  robbers.  The  picture  of  one  of  these  at  work  in 
pursuing  by  the  scent  and  at  last  detecting  the  felon,  is  highly 
animated.  Hence  the  poet  is  naturally  led  to  some  philosophi- 
cal discussion  on  the  nature  and  cause  of  those  effluvia  which 
exercise  the  admirable  sagacity  of  the  canine  species ;  and  he 
concludes  the  book  with  showing  the  effects  of  atmospherical 
changes  on  the  scenting  power  of  dogs,  and  with  some  liberal 
sentiments  concerning  the  advantages  of  a  cultured  mind  in  ena- 
bling a  person  to  enjoy  at  home  those  days  which  are  unfit  for 
the  diversions  of  the  field. 

The  second  book  opens  with  a  philosophical  subject,  which 
the  poet,  had  he  been  so  disposed,  might  not  unsuitably  have 
pursued  to  a  greater  extent.  It  is  the  power  of  instinct  in 
modifying  the  actions  and  habits  of  the  brute  creation.  He 
contents  himself,  however,  with  instancing  its  effects  in  two  ani- 
mals, the  roebuck  and  the  hare.  In  speaking  of  the  latter, 
he  slides  into  a  fuller  description  ot  its  manners  and  mode  of 
life,  preparatory  to  the  first  grand  picture  in  his  work,  that  of  a 
hare-hunt.  A  pleasing  view  of  autumn,  and  a  spirited  sketch  of 
the  dawn  of  day,  are  the  immediate  preludes.  The  impatience 
of  the  fiery  courser,  and  the  ecstasy  of  the  pack  let  loose  from 
their  kennel,  and  ready  to  begin  the  chase,  are  finely  painted. 
The  ensuing  description  receives  peculiar  value  from  its  circum- 
stantial minuteness ;  which,  displayed  in  natural  and  energetic 
language,  intermixed  with  bursts  of  genuine  feeling,  gives  won- 
derful force  and  truth  to  the  whole  scenery.  If  any  one  com- 
pares the  finished  picture  of  a  chase  by  Somerville,  with  the 
draughts  by  Thomson,  formed  upon  general  ideas,  and  inter- 
spersed with  sentiment  and  reflection,  he  will  be  sensible  of  the 
great  difference  between  writing  upon  a  topic  merely  as  belong- 
ing to  a  general  subject,  and  indulging  in  a  favourite  theme, 
which  dwells  on  the  mind  in  the  vivid  colours  of  memory  and 
affection.  It  would  be  scarce  possible  even  in  prose  to  describe 
the  hunting  of  the  hare  with  more  exactness  than  is  here  done ; 
yet  the  language  throughout  is  sufficiently  elevated,  and  some  of 


SOMERVILLE.  297 

the  passages  are  truly  poetical.  Such  is  that  describing  theww- 
sic  of  the  chase,  and  its  fascinating  effect  upon  all  the  hearers  ; 
well  exemplifying  the  universality  of  that  passion  which  urges 
men  to  partake  of  the  hunter's  pastime.  Though  there  are 
touches  in  the  representation  which  may  call  forth  the  emotions 
of  pity  in  a  feeling  mind,  yet  the  poet  has  judiciously  refrained 
from  enforcing  them  by  moral  sentiment  and  reflection,  which 
would  act  in  contradiction  to  his  purpose.  The  effect  of  the  op- 
posite conduct  of  Thomson,  in  converting  a  joyous  scene  into  a 
melancholy  one,  is  obvious. 

This  humble  though  animated  English  hunting  piece  is  suc- 
ceeded by  a  contrast,  representing  the  chase  in  its  utmost  pomp 
arid  magnificence,  with  respect  both  to  the  persons  engaged  in 
it,  and  the  objects.  It  is  an  eastern  picture,  copied  from  the  re- 
lations of  travellers ;  and  to  which,  therefore,  the  writer  has 
brought  nothing  but  his  acquired  skill  in  poetical  painting,  with 
the  enthusiasm  inspired  by  a  favourite  subject.  It  is  truly  a  grand 
and  noble  piece,  abounding  in  rich  images  and  striking  incidents, 
and  wrought  with  great  force  and  distinctness  of  colouring.  Its 
character  being,  as  it  were,  historical,  there  is  little  scope  for 
strokes  of  the  fancy ;  yet  the  effect  of  the  martial  music  and 
shouts  of  the  surrounding  hunters  upon  the  inclosed  wild  beasts, 
is  conceived  with  true  poetic  imagination  : 

tj'gers  fell 

Shrink  at  the  noise  ;  deep  in  kis  gleomy  den 
The  lion  starts,  and  morsels  yet  unchewed 
Drop  from  his  trembling  jaws. 

And  the  mutual  rage  of  the  encircled  savages  against  each  othera 
with  their  sudden  tameness  at  the  approach  of  their  human  foe, 
are  striking  ideas.  If  any  objection  lies  against  this  splendid 
picture,  it  is,  that  being  introduced  thus  early,  it  has  a  tendency 
to  flatten  and  diminish  the  subsequent  scenes.  We  shall  see, 
however,  that  the  poet  has  made  the  best  use  of  his  personal 
knowledge,  to  throw  an  interest,  by  force  and  clearness  of  cir- 
cumstance, upon  the  home  descriptions  which  he  afterwards  in- 
troduces. 

The  third  book  commences  with  the  fox-chase,  a  subject  which 
he  seems  to  have  laboured  more  con  amore  than  any  other.  It  is, 
indeed,  the  capital  scene  of  action  to  the  English  sportsman  ;  for 
though  the  stag  is  a  much  nobler  object  of  pursuit,  the  chase  of 


298  SOMERVILLE. 

the  fox  more  abounds  with  variety  of  incidents,  and  is  a  severer 
trial  to  the  spirit  of  the  hunters,  and  the  perseverance  of  the  dogs 
and  horses.  The  brief  account  of  the  extirpation  of  the  wolf,  a 
kindred  animal,  from  this  island,  forms  an  appropriate  introduc- 
tion. The  casting  off  of  the  hounds,  their  working  upon  the  scent, 
the  unkennelling  of  the  fox,  his  breaking  away  to  the  open  coun- 
try, and  the  full  cry  of  the  pack,  are  all  highly  animated  pictures. 
In  the  pursuit,  somewhat  of  the  ludicrous  is  intermixed,  together 
with  some  pathetic  incidents,  which  last  appear  rather  incon- 
gruous in  a  scene  which  is  represented  as  inspiring  "  the  madness 
of  delight." 

The  notice  taken  of  other  modes  of  destroying  this  noxious 
animal,  introduces  a  digression,  in  which  are  described  the  me- 
thods of  taking  the  lion  and  the  elephant  in  pitfalls,  the  curious 
manner  of  hunting  the  leopard  by  means  of  a  mirror,  and  a  wild- 
boar  chase.  All  these  pictures  are  copied  from  other  authors, 
and  of  course  are  not  enlivened  with  the  spiritand  circumstance 
of  the  British  ones.  Yet  they  afford  an  agreeable  variety;  and 
the  draughts  of  the  lion  astonished  by  his  fall  into  the  pit,  and 
of  the  elephant  issuing  majestically  from  his  covert  in  the  even- 
ing, are  vigorously  conceived. 

The  other  capital  picture  of  this  book  is  that  of  a  stag  hunt  in 
Windsor  forest.  Though  vastly  inferior  in  magnificence  to  that 
of  the  Indian  hunting  before  described,  it  is,  however,  drawn  in. 
a  dignified  style,  and  made  to  partake  of  the  polish  and  splen- 
dour of  a  court.  Such  being  its  character,  it  is  no  wonder  that 
the  ardour  and  animation  congenial  to  the  chase  when  partaken 
of  by  equals,  is  somewhat  kept  down  ;  and  that  a  kind  of  awe 
and  respect  for  the  exalted  personages  who  compose  the  princi- 
pa'  figures  takes  place  of  the  sportman's  rapture.  This,  too,  is 
the  only  scene  in  which  ladies  are  introduced  as  forming  part  of 
the  group ;  whence  gallantry  has  its  share  in  the  sentiments. 
But,  much  as  \ve  must  admire  the  graceful  form  of  the  huntress* 
the  pensive  lover  at  her  side  makes  rather  an  insipid  figure. 
There  is,  however,  considerable  variety  and  interest  in  the  events 
of  the  chase ;  and  much  diligence  is  employed  to  render  the  de- 
scriptions full  and  poetical.  It  concludes  with  a  compliment  to 
the  sovereign  on  a  supposed  exertion  of  mercy  in  saving  the  life 
of  the  hunted  animal ;  but  the  occasion  is  too  trivial  to  justify 
il-ff  pomp  of  the  sentiment. 

The  fourth  book  commences  with  a  strain  of  philosophising, 


SOMERVILLE.  299 

the  drift  of  which  it  is  not  easy  to  discover.  If  the  purpose  were 
to  establish  the  position,  that  unless  a  pack  of  hounds  be  recruited 
with  a  young  brood,  it  will  fall  to  decay,  less  effort  and  solem- 
nity would  have  sufficed  :  it  serves,  however,  as  an  introduction 
to  various  didactic  topics  belonging  to  his  general  subject;  such 
as,  the  mode  of  rearing  a  young  progeny,  the  choice  of  those 
which  are  best  worth  preserving,  and  the  discipline  by  which  they 
are  to  be  trained,  all  which  are  treated  in  an  interesting  manner. 
The  character  of  the  babbling  and  unsteady  hound  is  well  drawn; 
and  the  method  of  curing  the  propensity  to  worrying  sheep  forms 
a  natural  and  humourous  picture.  Touching  on  the  diseases  of 
dogs,  the  poet  is  led  to  a  particular  description  of  that  dreadful 
malady,  canine  madness,  in  which  the  contrasted  figures  of  me- 
lancholy and  fury  in  the  animal  subject  are  sketched  with  great 
force.  In  describing  the  hydraphobia  in  the  human  subject,  he 
seems  not  equally  successful ;  and  more  knowledge  of  fact 
would  have  enabled  him  to  render  the  draught  more  striking, 
without  any  mixture  of  fabulous  circumstances.  All  this  part  of 
the  fourth  book  would  seem  more  naturally  attached  to  the  first, 
which  treats  of  introductory  matter ;  but  the  writer  probably  re- 
served it  for  this  place,  in  order  to  break  that  continuity  of  hunt- 
ing pieces,  which  might  otherwise  have  proved  tiresome.  The 
last  picture  of  this  kind  is  well  discriminated  from  the  rest  by  a 
change  of  scene. to  another  element.  The  chase  of  the  otter, 
though  an  animal  rather  mean  and  inconsiderable/affords  some 
very  lively  and  amusing  description.  The  view  of  a  rivulet,  and 
the  various  tribes  of  fish  by  which  it  is  peopled,  is  truly  beautiful; 
and  there  are  some  very  picturesque  touches  in  the  watery  land- 
scape of  the  otter's  retreat.  It  maybe  remarked,  that  though 
every  former  chase  has  contained  full  and  rapturous  descriptions 
of  the  "gallant  chiding,"  the  music  of  the  hound  and  horn,  the 
poet  has  been  able  in  the  present  to  repeat  it  with  circumstances 
of  novelty  that  give  it  striking  effect 

The  poem  concludes  with  an  imitation  of  Virgil's  well  known 
praise  of  a  rural  life,  in  the  second  Georgic.  The  application, 
however,  is  less  happy  than  in  the  original ;  for  the  poem  of 
Somerville  being  professedly  addressed  to  the  heirs  of  great  fa- 
milies, as  those  best  qualified  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  chase, 
there  exists  no  real  opposition  between  them  and  the  possessors 
of  opulence  and  splendour.  It  is  true,  he  has,  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, given  it  the  turn  of  a  contrast  between  town  and  country — • 


SOO  SOMERVILLE. 

between  the  ambitious  courtier  and  the  sportsman  ;  but  since,  in 
fact,  the  fox  hunter  in  the  country  is  often  a  politician  in  town, 
and  hunting  matches  are  usually  associated  with  party,  the  dis- 
tinction is  rather  apparent  than  real.  Further,  the  sports  of  the 
hunter  are  noisy,  tumultuous,  attended  with  parade,  and  gene- 
rally ending  in  conviviality ;  they  ill  accord  therefore,  with  the 
calm,  retired,  reflective  disposition  of  the  lover  of  nature  and 
votary  of  philosophy.  If  these  tastes  were  united  in  Somerville, 
it  is  certain  that  they  are  rarely  found  to  be  so  in  his  brother 
sportsmen.  In  reality,  it  is  not  among  them  that  the  admirers 
even  of  a  poem  on  the  chase  are  to  be  looked  for.  This  work  will 
briefly  be  read  by  the  readers  of  English  poetry  in  general  ;  and 
its  chief  merit  will  be,  to  have  afforded  them  a  source  of  pleas- 
ing novelty ; — to  have  placed  in  their  view  a  set  of  lively  pictures, 
which  will  strike  with  the  appearance  of  truth  even  those  who 
are  not  practical  judges  of  their  subjects. 

From  what  has  been  above  remarked,  the  poetical  character  of 
Somerville  will  be  easily  deduced. \  He  is  strictly  and  almost 
solely  a  descriptive  poet;  and  his  talent  lies  in  delineating  actual 
scenes  with  fidelity  and  spirit,  adornitfg  them  with  the  beauties  of 
diction,  but  leaving  them  to  act  upon  the  imagination  by  their  own 
force,  without  aid  from  the  creations  of  fancy.  In  classical  allu- 
sion he  is  not  deficient,  but  it  is  of  the  more  common  kind ;  and 
little  occurs  in  his  writings  that  indicates  a  mind  inspired  by  that 
exalted  enthusiasm  which  denotes  the  genius  of  superior  rank. 
His  versification  is  generally  correct  and  well  varied,  and  evi- 
dently flows  from  a  nice  and  practised  ear.  His  language  is  well 
suited  to  his  subjects,  rising  and  sinking  with  them,  and  free  from 
that  stiffness  and  affectation  so  common!*7  attendant  on  blank 
verse.  It  more  resembles  that  of  A  v,  than  of  Thorn  on 

or  Akenside.     Some  ot  Ins  «i<!  i  <•  poercs  show  him  to  have  had  a 
••rception   ->{   the  ludicrous;  and   m  this,  too,  traits  of 
•iir  arc  dis.  ernible.     On  the  whole,  Somerville  occupies  a 
•'  uiblt'  |  lat:e  among  our  native  poets  ;  and  his  Chase  is  pro- 
bably the  >est  performance  upon  that  to|>?-  >untr\  has 
produ 


AN  ESSAY 

ON 

THE   POETRY   OF 


AMONG  those  false  opinions  which,  having  once  obtained  cur 
rency,  have  been  adopted  without  examination,  maybe  reckoned 
the  prevalent  notion,  that  notwithstanding  the  improvement  of 
this  country  in  many  species  of  literary  composition,  its  poeti- 
cal character  has  been  on  the  decline  ever  since  the  supposed 
Augustan  age  of  the  beginning  of  the  18th  century.  No  one 
poet,  it  is-  true,  has  fully  succeeded  to  the  laurel  of  Dryden  or 
Pope ;  but  if  without  prejudice  we  compare  the  minor  poets  of 
the  present  age, (minor,  I  mean,  with  respect  to  the  quantity,  not 
the  quality,  of  their  productions)  with  those  of  any  former  pe- 
riod, we  shall,  I  am  convinced,  find  them  greatly  superior  not 
only  in  taste  and  correctness,  but  in  every  other  point  of  poeti- 
cal excellence.  The  works  of  many  late  and  present  writers 
might  be  confidently  appealed  to  in  proof  of  this  assertion ;  but 
it  will  suffice  to  instance  the  author  who  is  the  subject  of  (he 
present  Essay ;  and  I  cannot  for  a  moment  hesitate  to  place  the 
name  of  Goldsmith,  as  a  poet,  above  that  of  Addison,  Parnel, 
Tickel,  Congreve,  Landsdown,  or  any  of  those  who  fill  the  greater 
part  of  the  voluminous  collection  of  the  English  Poets.  Of  these, 
the  main  body  has  obtained  a  prescriptive  right  to  the  honour  .of 
classical  writers,  while  their  works,  ranged  on  the  shelves  as 
necessary  appendages  to  a  modern  library,  are  rarely  taken 
down,  and  contribute  very  little  to  the  stock  of  literary  amuse- 
ment. Whereas  the  pieces  of  Goldsmith  are  our  familiar  com- 
panions;  and  supply  passages  for  recollection,  when  our  minds 
are  either  composed  to  moral  reflection,  or  warmed  by  strong 
emotions  arid  elevated  conceptions.  There  is,  I  acknowledge, 


302  GOLDSMITH. 

much  of  habit  and  accident  in  the  attachments  we  form  to  par 
ticular  writers  ;  yet  I  have  little  doubt,  that  if  the  lovers  of  Eng- 
lish poetry  were  confined  io  a  small  selection  of  authors,  Gold- 
smith w<,uld  find  a  place  in  the  favourite  list  of  a  great  majority. 
And  it  is,  I  think,  with  much  justice  that  a  great  modern  critic 
has  ever  regarded  this  concurrence  of  public  favour,  as  one  of 
the  least  equivocal  tests  of  uncommon  merit.  Some  kinds  of 
excellence,  it  is  true,  will  more  readily  be  recognised  than  others; 
and  this  will  not  always  be  in  proportion  to  the  degree  of  men- 
tal power  employed  in  the  respective  productions  ;  but  he  who 
obtains  general  and  lasting  applause  in  any  work  of  art,  must 
have  happily  executed  a  design  judiciously  formed.  This  re- 
mark is  of  fundamental  consequence  in  estimating  the  poetry  of 
Goldsmith  ;  because  it  will  enable  us  to  hold  the  balance  steady, 
when  it  might  be  disposed  to  incline  to  the  superior  claims  of  a 
style  of  loftier  pretension,  and  more  brilliant  reputation. 

Compared  with  many  poets  of  deserved  eminence,  Goldsmith 
will  appear  characterised  by  his  simplicity.  In  his  language  will 
be  found  few  of  those  figures  which  are  supposed  of  themselves 
to  constitute  poetry; — no  violent  transpositions;  no  uncommon 
meanings  and  constructions;  no  epithets  drawn  from  abstract 
and  remote  ideas ;  no  coinage  of  new  words  by  the  ready  mode 
of  turning  nouns  into  verbs;  no  bold  prosopopoeia,  or  audacious 
metaphor : — it  scarcely  contains  an  expression  which  might  not 
be  used  in  eloquent  and  descriptive  prose.  It  is  replete  with 
imagery ;  but  that  imagery  is  drawn  from  obvious  sources,  and 
rather  enforces  the  simple  idea,  than  dazzles  by  new  and  unex- 
pected ones.  It  rejects  not  common  words  and  phrases  ;  and, 
like  the  language  of  Dryden  and  Otway,  is  thereby  rendered  the 
more  forcible  and  pathetic.  It  is  eminently  nervous  and  con- 
cise ;  and  hence  affords  numerous  passages  which  dwell  on  the 
memory.  With  respect  to  his  matter,  it  is  taken  from  human 
life,  and  the  objects  of  nature.  It  does  not  body  forth  things 
unknown,  and  create  new  beings.  'Its  humbler  purpose  is  to  re- 
present manners  and  characters  as  they  really  exist;  to  impress 
strongly  on  the  heart  moral  and  political  sentiments;  and  to  fill 
the  imagination  with  a  variety  of  pleasing  or  affecting  objects 
selected  from  the  stores  of  nature.  If  this  be  not  the  highest 
department  of  poetry,  it  i  as  the  advantage  of  being  the  most 
universally  agreeable*  To  receive  delight  from  the  sublime  fic- 
tions of  Milton,  the  allegories  of  Spencer,  the  learning  of  Gray. 


GOLDSMITH:  303 

and  the  fancy  of  Collins,  the  mind  must  have  been  prepared  by 
a  course  of  particular  study  ;  and  perhaps,  at  a  certain  period 
of  life,  when  the  judgment  exercises  a  severer  scrutiny  over  the 
sallies  of  the  imagination,  the  relish  for  artificial  beauties  will 
always  abate,  if  not  entirely  desert  us.  But  at  every  age,  and 
with  every  degree  of  culture,  correct  and  well  chosen  represen- 
tations of  nature  must  please.  We  admire  them  when  young; 
we  recur  to  them  when  old;  and  they  charm  us  till  nothing 
longer  can  charm.  Further,  in  forming  a  scale  of  excellence  for 
artists,  we  are  not  only  to  consider  who  works  upon  the  noblest 
design,  but  who  fills  his  design  best.  It  is,  in  reality,  but  a  poor 
excuse  for  a  slovenly  performer  to  say  magnis  tamen  excidit 
aits  is  ;  and  the  addition  of  one  master-piece  of  any  kind  to  the 
stock  of  art,  is  a  greater  benefit,  than  that  of  a  thousand  abortive 
and  misshapen  wonders. 

If  Goldsmith  then  be  referred  to  the  class  of  descriptive  poets, 
including  the  description  of  moral  as  well  as  of  physical  nature, 
it  will  next  be  important  to  inquire  by  what  means  he  has  at- 
tained the  rank  of  a  master  in  his  class.  Let  us  then  observe 
how  he  has  selected,  combined,  and  contrasted  his  objects,  with 
what  truth  and  strength  of  colouring  he  has  expressed  them,  and 
to  what  end  and  purpose. 

As  poetry  and  eloquence  do  not  describe  by  an  exact  enume- 
ration of  every  circumstance,  it  is  necessary  to  select  certain  par- 
ticulars which  may  excite  a  sufficiently  distinct  image  of  the 
thing  to  be  represented.  In  this  selection,  the  great  art  is  to 
give  characteristic  marks,  whereby  the  object  may  at  once  be  re- 
cognised, without  being  obscured  in  a  mass  of  common  proper- 
ties, which  belong  equally  to  many  others.  Hence  the  great 
superiority  of  particular  images  to  general  ones  in  description  : 
the  former  identify,  while  the  latter  disguise.  Thus  all  the 
hackneyed  representations  of  the  country,  in  the  works  of  ordi- 
nary versifiers,  in  which  groves,  and  rills,  and  flowery  meads  are 
introduced  just  as  the  rhyme  and  measure  require,  present  no- 
thing to  the  fancy  but  an  indistinct  daub  of  colouring,  in  which 
all  the  diversity  of  nature  is  lost  and  confounded.  To  catch  the 
discriminating  features,  and  present  them  bold  and  prominent, 
by  few,  but  decisive  strokes,  is  the  talent  of  a  master;  and  it  will 
not  be  easy  to  produce  a  superior  to  Goldsmith  in  this  respect. 
The  mind  is  never  in  doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of  his  figures,  nor 


304  GOLDSMITH. 

does  it  languish  over  the  survey  of  trivial  and  unappropriated 
circumstances.  All  is  alive — all  is  filled — yet  all  is  clear 

The  proper  combination  of  objects  refers  to  the  impression  they 
are  calculated  to  make  on  the  mind  ;  and  requires  that  they 
should  harmonise,  and  reciprocally  enforce  and  sustain  each 
other's  effect.  They  should  unite  in  giving  one  leading  tone  to 
the  imagination  ;  and  without  a  sameness  of  form,  they  should 
blend  in  an  uniformity  of  hue.  This,  too,  has  very  successfully 
been  attended  to  by  Goldsmith,  who  has  not  only  sketched  his 
single  figures  with  truth  and  spirit,  but  has  combined  them  into 
the  most  harmonious  and  impressive  groups.  Nor  has  any  de- 
scriptive poet  better  understood  the  great  force  of  contrast,  in 
setting  off  his  scenes,  and  preventing  any  approach  to  weari- 
someness  by  repetition  of  kindred  objects.  And  with  great  skill, 
he  has  contrived  that  both  parts  of  his  contrast  should  conspire 
in  producing  one  intended  moral  effect.  Of  all  these  excel- 
lencies, examples  will  be  pointed  out  as  we  take  a  cursory  view 
of  the  particular  pieces. 

In  addition  to  the  circumstances  already  noted,  the  force  and 
clearness  of  representation  depend  also  on  the  diction.  It  has 
already  been  observed  that  Goldsmith's  language  is  remarkable 
for  its  general  simplicity,  and  the  direct  and  proper  use  of  words. 
It  has  ornaments,  but  these  are  not  far-fetched.  The  epithets 
employed  are  usually  qualities  strictly  belonging  to  the  subject, 
and  the  true  colouring  of  the  simple  figure.  They  are  frequently 
contrived  to  express  a  necessary  circumstance  in  the  description, 
and  thus  avoid  the  usual  imputation  of  being  expletive.  Of  this 
kind  are,  "  the  rattling  terrors  of  the  vengeful  snake  ;"  "  indurat- 
ed heart ;"  "  shed  intolerable  day ;"  "  matted  woods  ;"  "  ventrous 
ploughshare ;"  "  equinoctial  fervours."  The  examples  are  not 
few  of  that  indisputable  mark  of  true  poetic  language,  where  a 
single  word  conveys  an  image  ;  as  in  these  instances  :  "resigna- 
tion gently  slopes  the  way  ;"  "  scoops  out  an  empire  ;"  "  the  ves- 
sel idly  waitings/fops  with  every  gale  ;"  "  to  winnow  fragrance;" 
"  murmurs  fluctuate  in  the  gale."  All  metaphor,  indeed,  does 
this  in  some  degree;  but  where  the  accessory  idea  is  either  indis- 
tinct or  incongruous,  as  frequently  happens  when  it  is  intro- 
duced as  an  artifice  to  force  language  up  to  poetry,  the  effect  is 
only  a  gaudy  obscurity. 

The  end  and  purpose  to  which  description  is  directed  is  what 
distinguishes  a  well  planned  piece  from  a  loose  effusion  ;  for 


GOLDSMITH.  305 

though  a  vivid  representation  of  striking  objects  will  ever  afford 
some  pleasure,  yet  if  aim  and  design  be  wanting,  to  give  it  a 
basis,  and  stamp  it  with  the  dignity  of  meaning,  it  will  in  a  long 
performance  prove  flat  and  tiresome.  But  this  is  a  want  which 
cannot  be  charged  on  Goldsmith  ;  for  botli  the  Traveller  and  the 
Deserted  Village  have  a  great  moral  in  view,  to  which  the  whole 
of  the  description  is  made  to  tend.  I  do  not  now  inquire  into 
the  legitimacy  of  the  conclusions  he  has  drawn  from  his  premises; 
it  is  enough  to  justify  his  plans,  that  such  a  purpose  is  included 
in  them. 

The  versification  of  Goldsmith  is  formed  on  the  general  model 
that  has  been  adopted  since  the  refinement  of  English  poetry, 
and  especially  since  the  time  of  Pope.  To  manage  rhyme  coup- 
lets so  as  to  produce  a  pleasing  effect  on  the  ear,  has  since  that 
period  been  so  common  an  attainment,  that  it  merits  no  particu- 
lar admiration.  Goldsmith  may,  I  think,  be  said  to  have  come 
up  to  the  usual  standard  of  proficiency  in  this  respect,  without 
having  much  surpassed  it.  A  musical  ear,  and  a  familiarity  with 
the  best  examples,  have  enabled  him,  without  much  apparent 
study,  almost  always  to  avoid  defect,  and  very  often  to  produce 
excellence.  It  is  no  censure  of  this  poet  to  say  that  his  versifi- 
cation presses  less  on  the  attention  than  his  matter.  In  fact,  he 
lias  none  of  those  peculiarities  of  versifying,  whether  improve- 
ments or  not,  that  some  who  aim  at  distinction  in  this  point  have 
adopted.  He  generally  suspends  or  closes  the  sense  at  the  end 
of  the  line  or  of  the  couplet ;  and  therefore  does  not  often  give 
examples  of  that  greater  compass  and  variety  of  melody  which  is 
obtained  by  longer  clauses,  or  by  breaking  the  coincidences  of  the 
cadence  of  sound  and  meaning.  He  also  studiously  rejects  trip- 
lets and  alexandrines.  But  allowing  for  the  want  of  these 
sources  of  variety,  he  has  sufficiently  avoided  monotony  ;  and  in 
the  usual  flow  of  his  measure,  he  has  gratified  the  ear  with  as 
much  change,  as  judiciously  shifting  the  line-pauses  can  produce* 

Having  made  these  general  observations  on  the  nature  of 
Goldsmith's  poetry,  1  proceed  to  a  survey  of  his  principal  pieces. 

The  Traveller,  or  Prospect  of  Society,  was  first  sketched  out 
by  the  author  during  a  tour  in  Europe,  great  part  of  which  he  per- 
fomed  on  foot,  and  in  circumstances  which  afforded  him  the  full- 
est means  of  becoming  acquainted  with  the  most  numerous  class 
in  society,  peculiarly  termed  the  people.  The  date  of  the  first 


306  GOLDSMITH. 

edition  is  1765.     It  begins  in  the  gloomy  mood  natural  to  genius 
in  distress,  when  wandering  alone 

Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow. 

After  an  affectionate  and  regretful  glance  to  the  peaceful  seat 
of  fraternal  kindness,  and  some  expressions  of  self-pity,  the  poet 
sits  down  amid  Alpine  solitudes  to  spend  a  pensive  hour  in 
meditating  on  the  state  of  mankind.  He  finds  that  the  natives 
of  every  land  regard  their  own  with  preference  ;  whence  he  is 
led  to  this  proposition, — that  if  we  impartially  compare  the  ad- 
vantages belonging  to  different  countries,  we  shall  conclude  that 
an  equal  portion  of  good  is  dealt  to  all  the  human  race.  He  fur- 
ther supposes,  that  every  nation,  having  in  view  one  peculiar 
species  of  happiness,  models  life  to  that  alone ;  whence  this  fa- 
vourite kind,  pushed  to  an  extreme,  becomes  a  source  of  peculiar 
evils.  To  exemplify  this  by  instances,  is  the  business  of  the 
subsequent  descriptive  part  of  the  piece. 

Italy  is  the  first  country  that  comes  under  review.  Its  general 
landscape  is  painted  by  a  few  characteristic  strokes,  and  the 
felicity  of  its  climate  is  displayed  in  appropriate  imagery.  The 
revival  of  arts  and  commerce  in  Italy,  and  their  subsequent  de- 
cline, are  next  touched  upon  ;  and  hence  is  derived  the  present 
disposition  of  the  people — easily  pleased  with  splendid  trifles, 
the  wrecks  of  their  former  grandeur ;  and  sunk  into  an  enfeebled 
moral  and  intellectual  character,  reducing  them  to  the  level  of 
children. 

From  these  he  turns  with  a  sort  of  disdain,  to  view  a  nobler 
race,  hardened  by  a  rigorous  climate,  and  by  the  necessity  of 
unabating  toil.  These  are  the  Swiss,  who  find,  in  the  equality 
of  their  condition,  and  their  ignorance  of  other  modes  of  life,  a 
source  of  content  which  remedies  the  natural  evils  of  their  lot. 
There  cannot  be  a  more  delightful  picture  than  the  poet  has 
drawn  of  the  Swiss  peasant,  going  forth  to  his  morning's  labour, 
and  returning  at  night  to  the  bosom  of  domestic  happiness.  It 
sufficiently  accounts  for  that  patriot  passion  for  which  they  have 
ever  been  so  celebrated,  and  which  is  here  described  in  lines 
that  reach  the  heart,  and  is  illustrated  by  a  beautiful  simile. 
But  this  state  of  life  has  also  its  disadvantages.  The  sources  of 
enjoyment  being  few,  a  vacant  listlessness  is  apt  to  creep  upon 
the  breast ;  and  if  nature  urges  to  throw  this  off  by  occasional 
bursts  of  pleasure,  no  stimulus  can  reach  the  purpose  but  gross 


GOLDSMITH.  S07 

sensual  debauch.  Their  morals,  too,  like  their  enjoyments,  are 
of  a  coarse  texture.  Some  sterner  virtues  hold  high  dominion 
in  their  breasts,  but  all  the  gentler  and  more  refined  qualities  of 
the  heart,  which  soften  and  sweeten  life,  are  exiled  to  milder  cli- 
mates. 

To  the  more  genial  climate  of  France  the  Traveller  next  re- 
pairs, and  in  a  very  pleasing  rural  picture  he  introduces  himself 
in  the  capacity  of  musician  to  a  village  party  of  dancers  beside 
the  murmuring  Loire.  The  leading  feature  of  this  nation  he 
represents  as  being  the  love  of  praise ;  which  passion,  while  it 
inspires  sentiments  of  honour,  and  a  desire  of  pleasing,  also  af- 
fords a  free  course  to  folly,  and  nourishes  vanity  and  ostenta- 
tion. The  soul,  accustomed  to  depend  for  its  happiness  on 
foreign  applause,  shifts  its  principles  with  the  change  of  fashion, 
and  is  a  stranger  to  the  value  of  self-approbation. 

The  strong  contrast  to  this  national  character  is  sought  in 
Holland;  a  most  graphical  description  of  the  scenery  presented 
by  that  singular  country,  introduces  the  moral  portrait  of  the 
people.  From  the  necessity  of  unceasing  labour,  induced  by 
their  peculiar  circumstances,  a  habit  of  industry  has  been  form- 
ed, of  which  the  natural  consequence  is  a  love  of  gain.  The  pos- 
session of  exuberant  wealth  has  given  rise  to  the  arts  and  con- 
veniences of  life ;  but  at  the  same  time  has  introduced  a  crafty, 
cold  and  mercenary  temper,  which  sets  every  thing,  even  liber- 
ty itself,  at  a  price.  How  different,  exclaims  the  poet,  from 
their  Belgian  ancestors !  how  different  from  the  present  race  of 
Britain ! 

To  Britain,  then,  he  turns,  and  begins  with  a  slight  sketch  of 
the  country,  in  which,  he  says,  the  mildest  charms  of  creation 
are  combined, 

Extremes  are  only  in  the  master's  mind. 

He  then  draws  a  very  striking  picture  of  a  stern,  thoughtful,  in- 
dependent  freeman,  a  creature  of  reason,  unfashioned  by  the  com- 
mon forms  of  life,  and  loose  from  all  its  ties ; — and  this  he  gives 
as  the  representative  of  the  English  character.  A  society  form- 
ed by  such  unyielding  self-dependent  beings,  will  naturally  be 
a  scene  of  violent  political  contests,  and  ever  in  a  ferment  with 
party.  And  a  still  worse  fate  awaits  it ;  for  the  ties  of  nature, 
duty,  and  love  failing,  the  fictitious  bonds  of  wealth  and  law 


308  GOLDSMITH, 

must  be  employed  to  hold  together  such  a  reluctant  association  : 
\vhence  the  time  may  come,  that  valour,  learning,  and  patriot 
ism  may  all  lie  levelled  in  one  sink  of  avarice.  These  are  the 
ills  of  freedom  ;  but  the  poet,  who  would  only  repress  to  secure., 
goes  on  to  deliver  his  ideas  of  the  cause  of  such  mischiefs,  which 
he  seems  to  place  in  the  usurpations  of  aristocratical  upon  regal 
authority ;  and  with  great  energy  he  expresses  his  indignation 
at  the  oppressions  the  poor  suffer  from  their  petty  tyrants.  This 
leads  him  to  a  kind  of  anticipation  of  the  subject  of  his  Deserted 
Village,  where,  laying  aside  the  politician,  and  resuming  the 
poet,  he  describes,  by  a  few  highly  pathetic  touches,  the  depopu- 
lated fields,  the  ruined  village,  and  the  poor  forlorn  inhabitants 
driven  from  their  beloved  home,  and  exposed  to  all  the  perils  ol 
the  trans-atlantic  wilderness.  It  is  by  no  means  my  intention 
to  enter  into  a  discussion  of  Goldsmith's  political  opinions,  which 
bear  evident  marks  of  confused  notions  and  a  heated  imagina 
tion.  J  shall  confine  myself  to  a  remark  upon  the  English  na- 
tional character,  which  will  apply  to  him  in  common  with  va- 
rious other  writers,  native  and  foreign. 

This  country  has  long  been  in  the  possession  of  more  unre- 
strained freedom  of  thinking  and  acting  than  any  other  perhaps 
that  ever  existed  ;  a  consequence  of  which  has  been,  that  all  those 
peculiarities  of  character,  which  in  other  nations  remain  con- 
cealed in  the  general  mass,  have  here  stood  forth  prominent  and 
conspicuous;  and  these  being  from  their  nature  calculated  to 
draw  attention,  have  by  superficial  observers  been  mistaken  for 
the  general  character  of  the  people.  This  has  been  particularly 
the  case  with  political  distinction.  From  the  publicity  of  all 
proceedings  in  the  legislative  part  of  our  constitution,  and  the 
independence  with  which  many  act,  all  party  differences  are 
strongly  marked,  and  public  men  take  their  side  with  openness 
and  confidence.  Public  topics,  too,  are  discussed  by  all  ranks; 
and  whatever  seeds  there  are  in  any  part  of  the  society  of  spirit 
and  activity,  have  full  opportunity  of  germinating.  But  to  ima- 
gine that  these  busy  and  high  spirited  characters  compose  a  ma- 
jority of  the  community,  or  perhaps  a  much  greater  proportion 
than  in  other  countries,  is  a  delusion.  This  nation,  as  a  body, 
is,  like  all  others,  characterised  by  circumstances  in  its  situation; 
and  a  rich  commercial  people,  long  trained  to  society,  inhabiting 
a  climate  where  many  things  are  necessary  to  the  comfort  of 


GOLDSMITH.  309 

life,  and   under  a  government  abounding  with  splendid  dis- 
tinctions, cannot  possibly  be  a  knot  of  philosophers  and  patriots. 

To  return  from  this  digression.  Though  it  is  probable  that 
few  of  Goldsmith's  readers  will  be  convinced,  even  from  the  in- 
stances he  has  himself  produced,  that  the  happiness  of  mankind 
is  every  where  equal;  yet  all  will  feel  the  force  of  the  truly 
philosophical  sentiment  which  concludes  the  piece, — that  man's  . 
chief  bliss  is  ever  seated  in  his  mind  ;  and  that  a  small  part  of 
real  felicity  consists  in  what  human  governments  can  either  be- 
stow or  withhold. 

The  Deserted  Village,  first  printed  in  1769,  is  the  companion  - 
piece  of  the  Traveller,  formed,  like  it,  upon  a  plan  which  unites 
description  with  sentiment,  and  employs  both  in  inculcating  a 
political  moral.  It  is  a  view  of  the  prosperous  and  ruined  state 
of  a  country  village,  with  reflections  on  the  causes  of  both. 
Such  it  may  be  defined  in  prose ;  but  the  disposition,  manage- 
ment and  colouring  of  the  piece,  are  all  calculated  for  poetical 
effect.  It  begins  with  a  delightful  picture  of.  Auburn  when  in- 
habited by  a  happy  people.  The  view  of  the  village  itself,  and 
the  rural  occupations  and  pastimes  of  its  simple  natives,  is  in 
the  best  style  of  painting  by  a  selection  of  characteristic  circum- 
stances. It  is  immediately  contrasted  by  a  similar  bold  sketch 
of  its  ruined  and  desolated  condition.  Then  succeeds  an  ima- 
ginary state  of  England,  in  a  kind  of  golden  age  of  equality ; 
with  its  contrast  likewise.  The  apostrophe  that  follows,  the 
personal  complaint  of  the  poet,  and  the  portrait  of  a  sage  in  re- 
tirement, are  sweetly  sentimental  touches,  that  break  the  con- 
tinuity of  description. 

He  returns  to  Auburn,  and  having  premised  another  masterly 
sketch  of  its  two  states,  in  which  the  images  are  chiefly  drawn 
from  sounds,  he  proceeds  to  what  may  be  called  the  interior  his- 
tory of  the  village.  In  his  first  figure  he  has  tried  his  strength 
with  Dryden.  The  parish-priest  of  that  great  poet,  improved 
from  Chaucer,  is  a  portrait  full  of  beauty,  but  drawn  in  a  loose 
unequal  manner,  with  the  flowing  vein  of  digressive  thought  and 
imagery  that  stamps  his  style.  The  subject  of  the  draught,  too, 
is  considerably  different  from  that  of  Goldsmith,  having  more  of 
the  ascetic  and  mortified  cast,  in  conformity  to  the  saintly  model 
of  the  Roman  Catholic  priesthood.  The  pastor  of  Auburn  is 
more  human,  but  is  not  on  that  account  a  less  venerable  and  in- 
teresting figure ;  though  I  know  not  whether  all  will  be  pleased 


sio  GOLDSMITH; 

with  his  familiarity  with  vicious  characters,  which  goes  beyond 
the  purpose  of  mere  reformation.  The  description  of  him  in  his 
professional  character  is  truly  admirable ;  and  the  similes  of  the 
bird  instructing  his  young  to  fly,  and  the  tall  cliflf  rising  above 
the  storm,  have  been  universally  applauded.  The  first,  I  believe, 
is  original ; — the  second  is  not  so,  though  it  has  probably  never 
been  so  well  drawn  and  applied.  The  subsequent  sketches  of 
the  village  school -master  and  the  alehouse  are  close  imitations  of 
nature  in  low  life,  like  the  pictures  of  Teniers  and  Hogarth. 
Yet  even  these  humorous  scenes  slide  imperceptibly  into  senti- 
ment and  pathos ;  and  the  comparison  of  the  simple  pleasures  of 
the  poor,  with  the  splendid  festivities  of  the  opulent,  rises  to  the 
highest  style  of  moral  poetry.  Who  has  not  felt  the  force  of  that 
reflection, 

The  heart  distrusting  asks,  if  this  be  joy  ? 

The  writer  then  falls  into  a  strain  ot  reasoning  against  luxury 
and  superfluous  wealth,  in  which  the  sober  inquirer  will  find 
much  serious  truth,  though  mixed  with  poetical  exaggeration. 
The  description  of  the  contrasted  scenes  of  magnificence  and 
misery  in  a  great  metropolis,  closed  by  the  pathetic  figure  of  the 
forlorn  ruined  female,  is  not  to  be  surpassed. 

Were  not  the  subjects  of  Goldsmith's  description  so  skilfully 
varied,  the  uniformity  of  manner,  consisting  in  an  enumeration 
of  single,  circumstances,  generally  depicted  in  single  lines,  might 
tire ;  but  where  is  the  reader  who  can  avoid  being  hurried  along 
by  the  swift  current  of  imagery,  when  to  such  a  passage  as  the 
last,  succeeds  a  landscape  fraught  with  all  the  sublime  terrors  of 
the  torrid  zone ; — and  then,  an  exquisitely  tender  history-piece 
of  the  departure  of  the  villagers  ;  concluded  with  agroupe  (slight- 
ly touched,  indeed)  of  allegorical  personages  ?  A  noble  address 
to  the  genius  of  poetry,  in  which  is  compressed  the  moral  of  the 
whole,  gives  a  dignified  finishing  to  the  work. 

If  we  compare  these  two  principal  poems  of  Goldsmith,  we 
may  say,  that  the  Traveller  is  formed  upon  a  more  regular  plan, 
has  a  higher  purpose  in  view,  more  abounds  in  thought,  and  in 
the  expression  of  moral  and  philosophical  ideas ;  the  Deserted  Til- 
lage has  more  imagery,  more  variety,  more  pathos,  more  of  the 
peculiar  character  of  poetry.  In  the  first,  the  moral  and  natu- 
ral descriptions  are  more  general  and  elevated  ;  in  the  second* 


GOLDSMITH.  Sli 

they  are  more  particular  and  interesting.  Both  are  truly  origi- 
nal productions ;  but  the  Deserted  Village  has  less  peculiarity, 
and  indeed  has  given  rise  to  imitations  which  may  stand  in  some 
parallel  with  it ;  while  the  Traveller  remains  an  unique. 

With  regard  to  Goldsmith's  other  poems,  a  few  remarks  will 
suffice.  The  Hermit,  printed  in  the  same  year  with  the  Travel- 
ler, has  been  a  very  popular  piece,  as  might  be  expected  of  a  ten- 
der tale  prettily  told.  It  is  called  a  ballad,  but  I  think  with  no 
correct  application  of  that  term,  which  properly  means  a  story 
related  in  language  either  naturally  or  affectedly  rude  and  sim- 
ple. It  has  been  a  sort  of  fashion  to  admire  these  productions; 
yet  in  the  really  ancient  ballads,  for  one  stroke  of  beauty,  there 
are  pages  of  insipidity  and  vulgarity;  and  the  imitations  have 
been  pleasing  in  proportion  as  they  approached  more  finished 
compositions.  In  Goldsmith's  Hermit,  the  language  is  always 
polished,  and  often  ornamented.  The  best  things  in  it  are  some 
neat  turns  of  moral  and  pathetic  sentiment,  given  with  a  simple 
conciseness  that  fits  them  for  being  retained  in  the  memory.  As 
to  the  story,  it  has  little  fancy  or  contrivance  to  recommend  it. 

We  have  already  seen  that  Goldsmith  possessed  humour ;  and, 
exclusively  of  his  comedies,  pieces  professedly  humourous  form, 
a  part  of  his  poetical  remains.  His  imitations  of  Swift  are  hap- 
py, but  they  are  imitations.  His  tale  of  the  Double  Transforma- 
tion may  vie  with  those  of  Prior.  His  own  natural  vein  of  easy 
humour  flows  freely  in  his  Haunch  of  Venison  and  Retaliation; 
the  first,  an  admirable  specimen  of  a  very  ludicrous  story  made 
out  of  a  common  incident  by  the  help  of  conversation  and  cha- 
racter ;  the  other,  an  original  thought,  in  which  his  talent  at 
drawing  portraits,  with  a  mixture  of  the  serious  and  the  comic, 
is  most  happily  displayed. 


APHORISMS  ON  MIND  AND  MANNERS, 


HE  who,  after  a  loss,  immediately,  without  staying  to  lament 
it,  sets  about  repairing  it,  has  that  within  himself  which  can  con- 
trol fortune. 

The  youth  who  can  sneer  at  exalted  virtue,  needs  not  wait  for 
age  and  experience  to  commence  a  consummate  knave. 

He  whose  first  emotion  on  the  view  of  an  excellent  production, 
is  to  undervalue  it,  will  never  have  one  of  his  own  to  show. 

The  conscious  merit  of  true  ability,  never  goes  further  than 
"  I  too  am  a  painter." 

The  hardest  trial  of  the  heart  is,  whether  it  can  bear  a  rival's 
failure  without  triumph. 

Him  whom  descrying  at  a  distance,  you  turn  out  of  the  way 
to  aeoid,  you  may  call  your  friend  or  benefactor,  but  you  do  not 
love. 

He,  who  begins  life  with  "  Nil  admirari,"  will  end  it  "  Epicuri 
de  grege  porcus." 

The  man  who,  improving  in  skill  or  knowledge,  improves  in 
modesty,  has  an  undeniable  claim  to  greatness  of  mind. 

Bravely  to  contend  for  a  good  cause  is  noble — silently  to  suffer 
for  it,  is  heroical. 

Would  a  man  of  rank  estimate  his  real  dignity,  let  him  con- 
ceive himself  in  a  state  in  which  all  rank  is  abolished. 

All  professions,  it  is  said,  have  their  mysteries — these  are  pre- 
cisely the  points  in  which  consists  their  weakness  or  knavery. 

To  choose  a  good  book,  look  into  an  inquisitor's  prohibited  list 
— to  choose  a  good  cause,  see  which  interested  mer,  dislike. 

There  are  three  sights  most  detestable : — a  proud  priest  giving 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  313 

his  blessing, — a  knavish  hypocrite  saying  his  prayers, — and  a 
false  patriot  making  an  harangue. 

Who  says  hypocritical,  says  all  that  is  despicable  in  morals  : 
— who  says  affected,  says  all  that  is  odious  in  manners. 

Columbus  steering  steadily  westward  for  a  land  seen  only  by 
the  eye  of  his  reason,  was  one  of  the  greatest  of  human  cha- 
racters:— a  projector  obstinately  running  himself  in  pursuit  of  a 
visionary  scheme,  may  be  one  of  the  foolishest,  but  certainly  not 
of  the  lowest. 

Thoroughly  to  try  a  man's  patience,  he  must  have  the  labour 
of  years  consumed  before  his  eyes  in  a  moment : — thoroughly  to 
prove  it,  he  must  instantly  begin  to  renew  his  labour. 

The  woman  of  sensibility,  who  preserves  serenity  and  good 
temper,  amid  the  insults  of  a  faithless  and  brutal  husband,  wants 
nothing  of  an  angel  but  immortality. 

The  woman  who  rises  above  sickness  and  poverty  combined, 
may  look  down  upon  the  noisy  heroism  of  kings  and  generals. 

Better  to  be  moved  by  false  glory,  than  not  moved  at  all. 

Nothing  is  such  an  obstacle  to  the  production  of  excellence,  as 
the  power  of  producing  what  is  pretty  good  with  ease  and  ra- 
pidity. 

As  reasonably  expect  oaks  from  a  mushroom  bed,  as  great  and 
durable  products  from  small  and  hasty  efforts. 

Every  work  of  great  genius,  and  every  work  of  great  care  and 
industry,  will  have  its  value ;  but  mediocrity,  with  negligence, 
gives  products  of  no  value  at  all. 


WHAT  MAN  IS  MADE  FOR. 


SOON  after  the  marriage  of  the  dauphin  and  dauphiness  of 
France,  (the  late  unfortunate  Louis  XVI.  and  Antoinette,)  when 
all  the  conversation  ran  upon  the  splendid  fire-works  exhibited 
at  their  nuptials,  a  friend  of  mine  happening  to  be  at  Paris,  was 
much  amused  with  a  circumstance  to  which  he  was  witness,  in  a 
room  full  of  company.  A  boy,  about  seven  years  old,  possessed 
of  rather  more  than  an  ordinary  degree  of  that  forward  vivacity 
which  is  so  characteristic  of  the  vouthful  part  of  the  French  na- 
il r 


514  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

tion,  was  haranguing,  in  the  midst  of  the  circle,  with  great  volu- 
bility and  emphasis,  on  the  subject  of  fire  works,  and  giving-  a 
description  of  what  he  conceived  would  make  a  perfect  specta- 
cle of  that  kind.  But  while  he  was  painting  with  all  his  eloquence, 
the  immense  volumes  of  flame,  and  prodigious  explosions,  that 
filled  his  imagination,  a  by-stander  ventured  to  observe,  that  all 
the  people  employed  about  them  would  be  in  danger  of  being 
blown  to  pieces.  "  Ah,  (says  the  boy,  with  a  nonchalance,  worthy 
of  the  privileged  orders] — Aht  Us  sont  fails  pour  cela," — "  It  is 
what  they  are  made  for." 

This  expression  has  often  come  into  my  mind,  on  reflecting 
upon  the  destiny  of  the  great  bulk  of  mankind,  in  all  past,  and 
in  the  present  periods;  I  have  wished,  if  possible,  to  satisfy  my- 
self, what,  in  reality,  the  human  race  was  made  for?  and  I  con- 
fess, willing  as  I  am  to  entertain  better  hopes,  1  cannot  discover, 
from  any  principles  of  philosophising,  so  sure  a  ground  for  rea- 
soning concerning  the  future  condition  of  mankind,  as  the  uni- 
form experience  of  some  thousands  of  past  years.  If  I  breed  up 
a  horse  for  the  course,  or  a  dog  for  the  chase,  or  a  game  cock  for 
the  pit,  it  is  because  a  long  course  of  experiments  has  convinced 
me  that  such  is  the  nature  of  those  animals,  and  that  I  am  pretty 
sure  of  finding  in  the  progeny  those  qualities  and  dispositions 
which  I  remarked  in  the  parents.  May  not  then  a  king  of  Prus- 
sia, with  equal  reason,  train  a  number  of  two  legged  unfeathered 
creatures,  called  men,  to  pillage,  enslave,  and  murder  other  men, 
aflBie  word  of  command,  in  the  confidence,  that  as  the  experi- 
ment succeeded  with  fcesostris,  Cyrus,  Alexander,  Csesar,  Gen- 
giskan,  Tamerlane,  Charles,  Louis,  and  a  great  many  more  men- 
masters,  it  will  so  succeed  with  him; — in  other  words,  as  the 
French  boy  said,  that  "  Us  sont  fails  pour  cela  ?" 

Further — Man  is  a  creature  of  strong  appetites  and  passions. 
These  .are  evolved  in  him  earlier  than  the  principles  of  reason 
and  understanding,  and,  in  much  the  greater  part  of  the  species, 
they  continue  to  take  the  lead  during  life.  Sensual  pleasures 
have  attractions  for  all  men  ;  and  it  is  only  that  class  who,  by 
means  of  the  bodily  labour  of  the  majority,  are  able  to  live  in 
comparative  ease  and  leisure,  that  can  acquire  a  relish  for  intel- 
lectual enjoyments.  Now,  the  more  numerous  mankind  become, 
the  more  sedulous  must  be  their  exertions  to  procure  the  neces- 
saries- of  life,  which  must  ever  be  the  first  concern.  The  more 
refinement  and  luxury  prevail  among  the  higher  classes,  the 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  315 

greater  proportion  of  the  lower  must  devote  the  whole  of  their  time 
to  labour,  in  a  variety  of  new  modes.  Even  the  improvements  in 
arts  and  sciences  require  the  additional  manual  toil  of  inferior 
artists  ;  arid  the  ingenuity  of  one  head  sets  at  work  a  thousand 
pair  of  hands.  What  is  implied  by  the  sublime  discoveries  of  a 
Herschel  ? — the  existence  of  the  collier,  mirier,  fbrgeman,  smith, 
brazier,  glassmaker  and  grinder,  carpenter,  Sec.  &c.  all  of  whom 
must  be  hard-working  men,  living  in  garrets  or  cellars,  drinking 
porter  and  drams,  when  they  can  get  them,  and  placing  their 
summum  bonum  in  a  hot  supper  and  a  warm  bed.  That  is  what 
they  are  made  for.  And  when  thegovernmentunder  which  they  live 
and  of  which  they  must  always  be  subjects,  not  members,  chooses 
to  quarrel  with  a  neighbouring  state,  about  the  right  of  fishing  or 
trading  on  the  other  side  of  the  globe,  or  some  equally  worthy 
matter  of  debate,  these  very  men  must  be  compelled  or  debauch- 
ed to  clap  an  uniform  on  their  backs,  and  a  musket  on  their 
shoulders,  and  learn  to  kill  and  be  killed,  at  the  word  of  com- 
mand— for  this,  too,  is  what  they  are  made  for. 

An  acquaintance  of  mine,  who  is  fond  of  the  Linnsean  mode  of 
characterising  objects  of  natural  history,  has  amused  himself  with 
drawing  up  the  following  definition  of  man  : — 

Simia  Homo :  sine  caude  :  pedibus  posticis  ambulans  :  grega- 
rium,  omnivorum,  inquietum,  mendax,furax,  rapax,salax,  pugnax, 
artium  variarum  capax,  animalium  reliquorum  hostis,  sui  ipsius 
inimicus  acerrimus. 


ON  THE  TOUCH  FOR  THE  KING'S  EVIL. 


I  CONFESS  myself  to  be  one  of  those,  whom  a  pretty  long 
experience  of  mankind  has  not  tended  to  render  highly  enamour- 
ed of  the  species,  or  very  confident  of  its  progress  towards  me- 
lioration. I  think  I  see  the  same  radical  defects  of  character 
prevailing  in  all  periods,  and  through  all  external  circumstances 
and  though  diversely  modified,  yet  ever  operating  to  produce  the 
principal  part  of  the  evils  under  which  the  human  race  conti- 
nually labours.  In  particular,  the  disposition  to  deceive  and  be 


316  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

deceived,  appears  to  me  always  in  full  operation  in  all  societies 
whether  savage  or  civilized;  and,  since  much  of  the  weakness 
and  unhappiness,  if  not  of  the  vice,  of  men,  proceeds  from  this 
source,  T  conceive  that  to  detect  and  counteract  it,  will  ever  be 
one  of  the  best  services  that  a  thinking  mind  can  render  its  fel- 
low creatures.  An  instance  having  occurred  to  me  in  my  read- 
ing, which  I  think  remarkably  well  calculated  to  display  the 
joint  action  of  fraud  and  credulity,  with  respect  to  a  very  com- 
mon object  of  superstition, — that  of  the  miraculous  cure  of  dis- 
ease,— I  propose  to  lay  it  before  the  public,  together  with  the 
remarks  which  it  has  suggested  to  me. 

Those  who  have  endeavoured  to  support  the  reality  of  the  effi- 
cacy of  the  royal  touch,  in  the  cure  of  the  scrophula,  or  king's 
evil,  have  laid  particular  stress  on  the  testimony  of  Wiseman. 
This  person  was  serjeant  surgeon  to  Charles  II.;  of  high  reputa- 
tion in  his  profession,  and  the  author  of  a  work  in  surgery,  long 
reckoned  a  standard  performance,  and  which  shows  him  to  have 
been  a  fair  and  modest  man,  as  well  as  an  excellent  practitioner. 
It  contains  an  express  treatise  on  the  king's  evil,  in  which  he 
speaks  of  the  touch,  in  the  following  strong  terms  :  "  I,  myself, 
have  been  a  frequent  eye  witness  of  many  hundreds  of  cures 
performed  by  his  majesty's  touch  alone,  without  any  assistance 
of  chirurgery ;  and  those,  many  of  them,  such  as  had  tired  out 
the  endeavours  of  able  chirurgeons  before  they  came  thither.  It 
were  endless  to  recite  what  I  myself  have  seen,  and  what  I  have, 
received  acknowledgments  of,  by  letter,  not  only  from  the  several 
parts  of  this  nation,  but  also  from  Ireland,  Scotland,  Jersey,  and 
Germany.'-'  Is  it  possible  for  a  testimony  to  be  more  direct  arid 
positive  or  to  proceed  from  a  more  competent  witness  ?  Yet, 
probably,  there  is  scarcely  at  present  a  man  in  England  who  is 
not  convinced  that  the  whole  pretension  was  a  falsehood  (for 
that  imposture  is  now  worn  out.)  How  then  are  we  to  account 
for  Wiseman's  conduct  ?  Was  he  himself  deceived,  or  did  he, 
knowingly  lend  his  aid  to  carry  on  a  cheat  ?  Both  suppositions 
have  their  difficulties,  yet  both  are  in  some  degree  probable. 
His  warm  attachment  to  the  royal  family,  and  early  prejudices, 
might  inspire  him  with  a  faith  beyond  the  control  of  his  judg- 
ment. On  the  other  hand,  certain  passages  in  this  treatise  show 
a  necessary  consciousness  of  collusion,  and  are,  indeed,  the  true 
confutation  of  that  above  quoted,  which  otherwise  might  stagger 
one  who  judged  from  direct  evidence  alone. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  317 

It  was  his  office,  as  serjeant  surgeon,  to  select  such  afflicted 
objects,  as  were  proper  to  be  presented  for  the  royal  touch.  In 
the  history  of  the  disease,  when  describing  its  various  states  and 
appearances,  he  says,  *'  Those  which  we  present  to  his  majesty, 
are  chiefly  such  as  have  this  sort  of  tumor  about  the  musculus 
mastoideus,  or  neck,  with  whatever  circumstances  they  are  ac- 
companied ;  nor  are  we  difficult  in  admitting  the  thick  chapped 
upper  lips,  and  eyes  afflicted  with  a  lippitudo  :  in  other  cases  we 
give  our  judgment  more  warily.7'  Here  is  a  selection  of  the 
slightest  cases,  which  most  readily  undergo  a  spontaneous  alte- 
ration, and  a  manifest  doubt  expressed  concerning  the  success  in 
more  inveterate  ones.  A  little  below,  observing  that  the  strumee 
will  often  suppurate,  or  be  resolved  unexpectedly  from  acci- 
dental ferments,  he  says,  "  In  case  of  the  king's  touch,  the  reso- 
lution doth  often  happen,  where  our  endeavours  have  signified 
nothing  ;  yea,  the  very  gummata,  insomuch  that  I  am  cautious  of 
predicting  concerning  them  (though  they  appear  never  'so  bad) 
till  fourteen  days  be  over."  From  this  passage  we  may  infer,  that 
the  touch  was  by  no  means  infallible,  and  that  the  pretence  of  its 
succeeding  was  not  given  up,  till  a  fortnight  had  elapsed  without 
any  change  for  the  better. 

Indeed,  it  appears  very  evident,  that  the  worst  kind  of  cases 
were  seldom  or  never  offered  to  the  touch  ;  for  in  no  disease  does 
Wiseman  adduce  more  examples  from  his  own  practice  of  diffi- 
cult and  tedious  chirurgical  treatment,  nor  do  we  find,  that  in  one 
of  these  he  called  in  the  aid  of  the  royal  hand.  It  was  proposed  in 
a  single  instance;  but  under  circumstances  that  furnish  a  stronger 
proof  of  imposture,  than  any  thing  yet  mentioned.  A  young  gen- 
tlewoman had  an  obstinate  scrophulous  tumor  in  the  right  side 
of  the  neck,  under  the  jaw ;  Wiseman  applied  a  large  caustic  to 
it,  brought  it  to  suppuration,  treated  it  with  escharotics,  and  cur- 
ed it.  "  About  a  year  after,"  says  he,  "  I  saw  her  again  in  town, 
and  felt  a  small  gland  of  the  bigness  of  a  lupin,  lying  lower  on 
that  side  of  the  neck.  I  would  have  persuaded  her  to  admit  of 
a  resolvent  emplaster,  and  to  be  touched;  but  she  did  not,  as  she 
said  believe  it  to  be  the  king's  evil."  Here,  after  allowing  his 
patient  to  undergo  a  course  of  very  severe  surgery,  he  is  willing 
to  trust  the  relics  of  the  disease  to  the  royal  touch  assisted  by  a 
resolving  plaster  ;  but  the  complaint  was  now  too  trifling  to  en 
gage  her  attention.  Surely,  the  greatest  opponent  of  the  towli 
could  not  place  it  in  a  more  contemptible  light. 


318  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Thus  do  the  boldest  assertions  of  wonderful  and  supernatural 
occurrences,  shrink  into  nothing  before  a  patient  and  critical  ex- 
amination ;  and  thus  inconsistent  with  itself  is  an  extravagant 
pretension  ever  found  to  be.  It  was  enough  to  refute  the  impu- 
dent claims  of  the  alchemists,  that  these  pretended  gold  makers 
were  beggars  in  rags ;  as  it  is  a  very  convincing  proof,  that  the 
royal  touch  cannot  cure  the  king's  evil,  when  it  becomes  the  evil 
of  kings. 

In  order  fully  to  prove  the  reality  of  an  extraordinary  cure, 
three  points  of  evidence  are  necessary  : — that  the  disease  exist- 
ed, that  it  was  cured,  and  that  the  alleged  means  were  what  alone 
performed  the  cure.  But  how  seldom  have  these  concurred  in 
an  authentic  form,  to  establish  a  wonderful  tale  of  this  kind ! 
Yet  men  are  still  the  dupes  of  their  own  credulity ;  and  who  can 
forsee  an  end  to  this  delusion  ? 


LITERARY  PROPHECIES  FOR  1797. 


I  DISCERN  in  embryo  three  new  tragedies,  five  comedies, 
and  six  musical  entertainments  for  the  London  Theatres.  The 
tragedies  will  be  splendid,  stately,  and  abundantly  loyal — they 
will  be  praised  in  the  papers  till  nobody  goes  to  see  them.  The 
comedies  will  be  partly  sentiment,  partly  farce ;  and  two  of  them, 
at  least,  by  the  efforts  of  the  actors  for  whom  they  are  written, 
will  be  preserved  from  oblivion  till  the  year  1798.  The  musical 
pieces  will  certainly  expire  with  the  almanacs. 

A  new  imposition  will  be  practised  on  the  black-letter  gentle- 
men with  some  success;  but  the  hero,  this  year,  will  not  be 
Shakspeare,  nor  will  a  six  shilling  book  be  written,  after  its  de- 
tection, to  prove  that  it  ought  to  have  been  believed. 

The  controversy  about  the  talents  of  women,  will  give  birth  to 
two  bulky  volumes,  from  a  female  pen ;  which  will,  at  least,  prove 
that  lightness  and  vivacity  are  not,  as  has  been  supposed,  charac- 
teristic of  the  writers  of  that  sex. 

The  Oxford  University  press  will  this  year  be  chiefly  employ- 
ed in  printing  catechisms  for  the  use  of  French  emigrants  and 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  519 

their  converts  ;  yet  some  progress  will  be  made  in  re-editing  a 
German  edition  of  a  forgotten  classic. — N.  B.  Dr.  Bradley's  as- 
tronomical papers  will  not  appear  this  year. 

The  alliance  of  church  and  state,  and  the  consanguinity  of  all 
religions,  will  be  ably  supported  by  an  eminent  divine,  in  full 
prospect  of  a  seat  on  the  episcopal  bench. 

The  political  world  will  be  thrown  into  a  strange  ferment  to- 
wards the  end  of  autumn,  by  an  extraordinary  publication  of  an 
extraordinary  character,  containing  a  renunciation  of  all  former 
principles.  I  am  sorry  that  the  delicate  nature  of  the  subject 
obliges  me,  in  this  instance,  to  adopt  somewhat  of  the  ambiguous 
language  of  other  prophets. 

The  elegant  press  of  Bulmer  will,  this  year,  send  forth  a  Col- 
lection of  the  Puerile  Poetry  of  England  ;  wherein  the  popular 
compositions  of  "  Hey  my  kitten,  my  kitten  ;"  "  Jack  and  Gill 
went  up  the  hill ;''  "  There  were  three  crows  they  sat  on  a  stone;'' 
and  a  variety  of  the  like  kind,  will  be  carefully  edited  and  illus- 
trated with  historical  and  critical  notes,  by  a  learned  member  of 
the  Society  of  Antiquaries.  Vignettes,  head  and  tail  pieces,  and 
designs,  by  a  lady  of  quality,  as  usual. 

Two  Pindaric  Odes,  by  a  hackney  coachman  ;  a  Collection  of 
Sentimental  Sonnets,  by  a  washer-woman  ;  and  an  Epic  Poem, 
in  twenty  books,  by  a  printer's  devil,  composed  in  types,  instead 
of  being  committed  to  paper,  will  agreeably  entertain  the  lovers 
of  poetry. 

An  infallible  method  of  cure  for  the  yellow  fever,  which  wants 
only  a  trial  beyond  the  Atlantic  to  demonstrate  its  efficacy,  will 
be  communicated  to  the  public  by  a  young  graduate  from  Scot- 
land. 

A  new  project  of  nutrition,  by  inhaling  the  gases  of  bakers', 
cheesemongers'  and  cooks'  shops,  will  administer  food  to  the 
pneumatic  speculators. 

I  see  this  moment  on  the  road  from  Edinburgh,  two  bulkly  MSS. 
one,  an  absolutely  new  Theory  of  the  Human  Understanding; 
the  other,  a  Complete  History  of  the  Proceedings  of  one  of  the 
Provincial  Synods  ever  since  the  Reformation  :  but  whether  any 
bookseller  will  be  found  to  undertake  their  publication,  my  art 
does  not  positively  inform  me. 

A  novel,  by  a  lady,  will  make  some  noise ;  in  which  the  hero 
ine  begins  by  committing  a  rape,  and  ends  with  killing  her  mar 
in  a  duel. 


320  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

A  proposal  fora  Reform  in  Law-proceedings,  published  under 
the  name  of  an  eminent  barrister,  will  greatly  astonish  the  gen- 
tlemen of  the  long  robe,  and  occasion  much  debate  as  to  its  au- 
thenticity, till  a  statute  of  lunacy  taken  out  against  the  author 
will  clear  up  the  matter. 


REMARKS  ON  THE  CHARGE  OF  JACOBINISM. 


IT  has  at  all  times  been  so  common  an  artifice  of  party  to 
stigmatise  its  adversaries  by  some  opprobrious  name,  that  par- 
ticular examples  of  the  fact  may  be  deemed  unworthy  of  notice. 
Yet,  where  individuals  actually  suffer  from  the  impudent  licen- 
tiousness with  which  this  is  done,  and  obnoxious  ideas  are  asso- 
ciated in  the  public  mind  which  have  not  the  least  real  connec- 
tion, some  appeal  to  truth  and  reason,  on  the  part  of  the  injured, 
is  natural,  if  not  necessary.  I  conceive  this  at  present  to  be  the 
case  with  respect  to  the  charge  of  Jacobinism,  so  industriously 
brought  forward  on  all  occasions,  by  a  certain  set  of  writers, 
against  all  who  disapprove  of  the  measures  of  ministers,  howrever 
differing  from  each  other  in  political  principles,  and  however  free 
the  greater  part  may  be  from  any  designs  which  can  justify  such 
an  imputation. 

Every  one  acquainted  with  the  history  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion must  know,  that  a  club  called  the  Jacobins,  from  the  place 
of  their  meeting  in  Paris,  connected  with  a  number  of  others 
throughout  the  kingdom,  openly  attempted  to  overcome  the  legal 
representatives  of  the  nation,  to  overturn  a  constitution  estab- 
lished by  general  consent,  and  to  involve  everything  in  anarchy 
and  confusion,  that  no  obstacle  might  exist  to  their  schemes. 
The  essence  of  Jacobinism,  according  to  its  true  signification, 
then,  is — 

To  hold  that  a  majority  may  lawfully  be  governed  by  a  minor- 
ity, upon  the  pretext  of  the  public  good  : 

To  pay  no  regard  to  the  will  of  the  nation,  as  declared  by  those 
who  have  been  fairly  delegated  for  the  purpose: 

To  scruple  no  means,  however  base  or  violent,  to  compass  a 
political  end  : 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  321 

To  consider  absolute  anarchy,  and  the  destruction  of  all  na- 
tural arid  civil  rights,  as  a  cheap  purchase  for  speculative  im- 
provements in  a  constitution. 

I  am  sure  I  have  no  objection  that  every  man  in  this  kingdom, 
who  avows,  either  in  word  or  action,  these  principles,  should  by 
name  be  exposed  as  a  Jacobin  to  the  hatred  and  suspicion  of  his 
fellow-citizens. 

But  it  is  not  Jacobinism  to  maintain — 

That  government  was  instituted  for  the  good  of  the  many,  not 
the  emolument  of  the  few  : 

That  there  at  all  times  exists,  in  the  majority  of  a  political  so- 
ciety, a  right  of  making  such  alterations  in  their  form  of  govern- 
ment, as  upon  mature  deliberation  they  shall  think  conducive  to 
the  public  welfare : 

That  privileged  bodies  derive  all  title  to  their  privileges  from 
the  consent  and  advantage  of  the  whole : 

That,  therefore,  wars  and  public  burdens  for  the  particular  in- 
terest of  those  bodies  are  a  public  injustice  : 

That  a  friend  of  mankind  may  wish  well  to  the  cause  of  liberty 
all  over  the  globe,  without  waiting  for  the  permission  of  his  own 
partial  or  prejudiced  countrymen. 

Finally,  Republicanism,  the  spirit  of  which  is,  in  fact,  the  very 
essence  of  every  thing  free  in  political  constitutions,  is  not  Ja- 
cobinism, but  the  very  reverse. 


ON  THE  PROBABILITY  OF  A 

FUTURE  MELIORATION  IN  THE  STATE  OF  MANKIND. 


THAT  man,  who,  during  the  course  of  a  few  late  years,  has 
not  made  very  serious  reflections  on  the  condition  and  prospects 
of  his  fellow -creatures ;  who  has  not  been  agitated  with  alter- 
nate hopes  and  fears,  and  felt  his  wishes  and  expectations  in  a 
state  of  perpetual  tumult  and  fluctuation,  must  either  have  been 
absorbed  in  stupid  and  selfish  indifference,  or  must  have  arrived 
at  that  state  of  security  concerning  all  human  affairs  which  is  the 
Ss 


3£2  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

highest  point  of  philosophy.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  been  fat 
from  either  of  those  conditions.  I  have  most  ardently  sympa- 
thised in  the  surrounding  scenes  ;  but  from  the  present  view  ot 
things,  I  could  wish  that  the  tranquillity  arising  not  from  indif- 
ference, but  from  philosophy,  should  succeed  to  the  painful  sus- 
pense and  uneasy  apprehensions  of  a  mind  too  strongly  impres- 
sed by  actual  events.  This,  too,  may  probably  be  the  state  of 
many  others.  Let  us  then  see,  if,  by  meditating  on  the  past  and 
present  state  of  mankind,  we  can  discover  any  principles  which 
may  reconcile  us  to  what  we  behold,  and  secure  us  for  the  future 
against  the  folly  and  the  pain  of  expectations  never  likely  to  be 
gratified. 

The  human  race  has  now  subsisted  some  thousand  years,  and 
under  all  the  differences  of  climate  and  external  circumstances 
that  can  be  supposed  incident  to  it.  With  respect  to  what  we 
call  civilisation,  likewise,  it  seems  to  have  undergone  all  the  vi- 
cissitudes of  which  it  is  capable ;  for  this  has  in  a  great  many 
jnstances  been  carried  to  a  degree,  which  seems  to  have  been  the 
direct  cause  of  its  own  decline.  States  more  commercial,  more 
military,  more  polished,  more  luxurious,  than  have  already  ex- 
isted, are  not  likely  again  to  appear  on  the  theatre  of  the  world. 
"What  then  remains  on  which  to  found  expectations  of  a  new  state 
of  things,  unless  it  be  knowledge?  This,  in  fact,  is  the  present 
anchor  of  our  hopes  for  a  meliorated  condition  of  mankind ;  it 
is,  therefore,  a  matter  of  high  importance  to  consider  what  that 
improvement  in  knowledge  must  be  which  is  to  effect  this  desir- 
able change,  and  what  are  the  probabilities  of  its  taking  place. 

Knowledge  may,  in  a  loose  way,  be  divided  into  that  which  is 
a  source  of  happiness  in  itself,  and  that  which  is  a  means  of  pro- 
ducing happiness.  With  respect  to  the  former,  inasmuch  as  it 
contributes  to  the  enjoyment  of  individuals  by  affording  interest- 
ing and  agreeable  occupations  for  their  leisure,  and  by  dignify- 
ing and  exalting  their  natures,  it  cannot,  I  fear,  be  made  a  ground 
of  much  advantage  to  the  great  mass  of  mankind.  For  too  few 
in  society  can  ever  possess  leisure  and  opportunity  sufficient  foi 
the  pursuit,  or  if  they  have  these,  will  prefer  the  pleasures  o 
knowledge  to  the  more  obvious  ones  flowing  from  the  affections 
and  the  senses,  to  render  advances  in  literature  and  science  the 
source  of  much  substantial  benefit  to  the  world.  It  may  be  added 
that  as  it  is  pursuit  and  progress,  rather  than  real  attainment  ot 
any  precise  objects,  which  gives  the  pleasure  in.  this  case,  an 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  323 

advanced  state  of  knowledge  is  not  more  favourable  than  an  early 
and  immature  one,  to  the  happiness  of  its  votaries.  Whatever 
may  be  the  modern  improvements  in  physics  and  metaphysics, 
the  ardour,  and  consequently  the  delight,  with  which  they  are 
pursued,  cannot  now  be  much  greater  than  that  felt  by  the  phi- 
losophers of  antiquity. 

The  other  species  of  knowledge  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  means 
to  an  end  ;  and,  from  the  nature  of  mankind,  formed  capable  of 
transmitting  the  experience  and  discoveries  of  one  generation  to 
another,  and  thus  making  unlimited  progress  in  the  adaptation  of 
the  fittest  means  to  the  best  ends,  we  may  very  reasonably  ex- 
pect an  addition  to  the  stock  of  general  good  from  this  source, 
But,  in  order  to  form  some  estimate  of  its  amount,  it  will  be  first 
necessary  to  consider  of  what  ingredients  human  happiness  is 
composed,  and  how  far  it  lies  within  the  power  of  man  to  add  to 
or  diminish  the  general  sum. 

There  is,  indeed,  an  opinion  that  many  seem  fond  of  maintain- 
ing, which,  if  true,  would  render  unnecessary  every  consideration 
of  this  sort,  and  induce  us  to  sit  down  in  perfect  apathy  :  this  is, 
that  good  and  evil  are  so  equally  balanced  in  all  the  different 
states  and  conditions  of  mankind,  that  what  is  gained  on  one 
side,  is  lost  on  the  other,  and  vice  versa  ;  so  that  it  can  never  be 
worth  while  to  attempt  a  melioration,  by  which  nothing  can  be 
really  acquired  in  point  of  happiness.  And  if  happiness  be  the 
true  end  and  object  of  our  being,  it  is  certain  that  a  change, 
which  does  not  conduce  to  its  augmentation,  is  but  an  idle  waste 
of  our  industry.  But,  surely,  a  fair  and  impartial  survey  of  the 
world  can  never  lead  to  such  a  conclusion.  Place  happiness  as 
low  as  we  please — let  it  consist  in  mere  animal  enjoyments,  and 
that  security  of  life  and  its  comforts,  and  that  freedom  of  action, 
which  even  a  savage  must  prize — and  we  cannot  be  insensible 
of  the  superior  advantages  which  some  states  of  society  offer  in 
these  respects  over  others.  It  is  impossible  for  any  one  seriously 
to  suppose,  that  the  American  or  English  farmer,  surrounded 
with  plenty,  which  no  one  can  hinder  him  from  enjoying,  and 
resting  in  full  peace  and  tranquillity  under  the  protection  of 
strong  and  equal  laws,  is  not  a  happier  being  than  the  cultivator 
of  the  Turkish  dominions,  who  is  forced  to  hide  the  little  wealth 
he  possesses,  lest  it  should  be  forcibly  taken  from  him  ;  and  fears 
a  brutal  and  insolent  foe  in  the  person  of  every  one  stronger  or 
better  armed  than  himself.  The  difference  here  is  nothing  less 


324  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

than  fanciful — it  bears  upon  the  solid  comfort  of  every  day,  and 
comes  home  to  the  feelings  of  every  human  creature. 

The  happiness  of  man,  as  far  as  it  applies  to  the  whole  species, 
will  probably  never  admit  of  a  high  or  complex  estimate.  Sen- 
sual gratifications,  and  the  ordinary  pleasures  of  social  and  do- 
mestic life,  may  be  reckoned  to  compose  almost  the  whole  of  it. 
As  already  observed,  the  wants  of  mankind  are  too  many  to  allow 
to  the  majority  leisure  enough  for  intellectual  pursuits ;  nor  are 
the  enjoyments  arising  from  that  source,  so  strong  and  constant 
in  their  attraction,  as  those  from  the  two  former.  I  have,  there- 
fore, no  idea  of  a  higher  degree  of  happiness,  attainable  by  a 
community,  than  that  proceeding  from  abundance  of  the  neces- 
saries and  most  obvious  conveniences  of  life,  fairly  shared,  and 
temperately  used  ;  from  peace,  security,  freedom  of  action,  and 
mutual  kindness  and  good  offices.  To  these  may  be  added,  im- 
munity from  those  superstitious  terrors,  and  self  tormenting 
practices,  which  have  attended  so  many  forms  of  false  religion. 
Now  let  us  inquire  how  far  the  increase  of  knowledge  accruing 
from  experience,  is  likely  to  further  these  desirable  objects  among 
the  great  family  of  mankind. 

Not  much  need  be  said  concerning  the  improvements  in  the 
common  arts  of  life  in  this  view.  Being  almost  all  of  them  the 
offspring  of  necessity,  they  can  scarcely  do  more  than  keep  pace 
with  the  demands  of  that  necessity.  Such  is  the  natural  increase 
of  the  human  species  when  not  checked  by  unfavourable  circum- 
stances, that  there  will  be  perpetual  occasion  for  the  full  em* 
ployment  of  the  human  abilities  to  prevent  the  share  of  good 
things  already  possessed  by  each  individual  from  being  dimin- 
ished. The  utmost  improvement  of  agriculture  can  only  give 
wholesome  and  palatable  food  to  greater  numbers  than  are  now 
fed  from  the  same  extent  of  land  :  the  like  may  be  said  of  all 
other  branches  of  economics  and  manufactures,  at  least  in  every 
country  where  already  enough  has  been  discovered  to  make  life 
comfortable.  Most  countries  in  Europe  might  probably  main- 
tain a  much  larger  population  than  they  possess;  but  what  has 
the  sum  of  population  to  do  with  the  happiness  of  the  individuals 
which  compose  it?  This  has  long  ago,  in  China  and  Japan, 
rea  hed  its  maximum,  and  in  its  consequences  has  pushed  the 
moiv  essential  arts  of  life  to  a  degree  of  perfection  much  beyond 
wlu.t  we  see  among  ourselves  ;  but  it  seems  to  have  been  very 
far  from  meliorating  the  condition  of  the  species. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  325 

A  much  more  promising  consequence  of  increased  knowledge., 
is  the  improvement  to  be  expected  from  it  in  government,  legis- 
lation, and  all  the  contrivances  by  which  a  community  are  se- 
cured in  the  enjoyment  of  those  advantages  which  nature  and 
industry  bestow.  Here  seems,  indeed,  to  be  a  wide  and  almost 
boundless  field  for  melioration  ;  for  old  as  the  world  is,  how 
very  few  examples  has  it  yet  seen  of  civil  institutions,  purely 
and  fairly  framed  with  a  view  to  the  production  of  the  greatest 
possible  good  !  How  difficult  it  would  be  to  name  a  single  one 
in  which  partial  interests  have  not,  in  many  important  points, 
taken  the  lead  of  general  interests  !  But,  in  order  to  know  what 
improvements  may  be  expected  in  this  matter,  it  will  be  neces- 
sary to  consider  what  errors  have  been  owing  to  ignorance,  and 
ill  intention.  The  former  may  perhaps  admit  a  cure  ;  the  latter 
hardly  can,  unless  the  majority  become  so  enlightened  concern- 
ing their  interests,  and  so  wise,  steady,  and  unanimous  in  the 
pursuit  of  them,  as  to  overcome  all  that  resistance  which  the  pos- 
sessors of  undue  advantages  will  always  make  to  a  change  un- 
favourable to  themselves. 

That  ignorance  on  the  part  of  rulers,  in  the  true  principles  of 
legislation,  police,  and  the  other  branches  of  government,  has 
been,  and  is,  the  cause  of  much  evil  to  nations,  cannot  be  doubt- 
ed. And  as  it  must  be,  upon  the  whole,  the  interest  of  rulers  to 
see  their  subjects  flourishing  and  happy  enough  to  be  kept  in  good 
humour,  there  seems  no  reason  to  doubt,  that  in  proportion  as 
prejudices  and  false  conceptions  give  way  to  the  gradual  pro- 
gress of  truth,  many  improvements  will  be  made  in  these  partic- 
ulars which  will  materially  better  the  state  of  mankind.  I  make 
no  question  but  much  has  been  done  during  the  course  of  the 
present  century,  to  amend  the  distribution  of  private  justice,  to 
check  the  oppression  of  the  great,  and  to  secure  life  and  property 
to  all  the  members  of  a  state,  in  almost  every  country  in  Europe. 
Industry  has  been  more  encouraged,  trade  freed  from  many  im- 
politic shackles,  punishments  rendered  less  cruel,  and,  in  general, 
a  more  just  and  liberal  spirit  of  internal  government  has  been  in- 
troduced. The  rule  of  a  Frederick  and  a  Catherine,  despotic  as 
the  principles  of  both  have  been,  cannot  be  denied  to  be  much 
more  lenient,  and  better  calculated  to  promote  the  public  wel- 
fare, than  that  of  their  predecessors. 

All  this  is  very  well  as  far  as  it  goes.     But  since  arbitrary 
rulers  must  ever  have  an  interest  nearer  and  dearer  to  them  than 


326  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

the  happiness  of  their  subjects,  viz.  that  of  their  power,  they  will 
never  willingly  acquiesce  in  promoting  the  public  improvement 
with  respect  to  those  points  on  which  this  power  is  founded.  And 
as  great  part  of  the  worst  abuses  in  corrupt  governments  are  in- 
timately connected  with  the  maintenance  of  the  sovereign  au- 
thority, it  is  vain  to  expect  that  they  will  ever  be  reformed  till 
the  people  themselves  come  to  understand  and  pursue  their  own 
interests.  But  here  is  the  great  difficulty.  How  is  it  possible 
that  the  mass  of  a  nation  should  ever,  in  the  hands  of  their  old 
masters,  become  enlightened  enough  to  comprehend  their  evils, 
and  the  remedies  of  them — should  be  able  peaceably  to  deliber- 
ate about  them,  and  take  proper  steps  for  their  relief — should 
avoid  the  snares  of  crafty  demagogues,  and  pursue  steadily  the 
right  objects  by  the  wisest  means — and,  finally,  amidst  the  unjust 
opposition  they  would  be  sure  to  meet  with,  should  preserve  their 
minds  from  that  irritation  which  will  in  the  end  break  out  in  acts 
of  the  most  dreadful  violence  ?  Alas !  have  we  not  too  well 
learned  what  a  nation  will  do  that  rises  to  revenge  those  injuries 
which  either  wisdom  cannot,  or  selfishness  will  not,  redress  in  a 
proper  time  and  manner  ?  But  they  should  first  have  been  en- 
lightened, say  the  friends  of  knowledge  and  liberty.  How  ?  when 
their  meetings  for  instruction  are  prevented  by  the  bayonet; 
when  the  press  is  shackled  by  penal  restrictions  j  and  when  hired 
teachers  will  tell  the  people  that  they  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  laws  but  to  obey  them  ?  The  melioration  of  mankind  by 
means  of  political  revolutions,  is,  indeed,  a  noble  subject  of  spec- 
ulation ;  and  I  am  far  from  asserting,  that  the  hopes  of  patriots 
on  this  head  are  futile  and  visionary;  but,  for  my  own  part,  I 
have  only  the  wish  left— the  confidence  is  gone. 

But  are  there  not  modes  in  which  increased  knowledge  may 
more  quietly  and  gradually  meliorate  the  condition  of  mankind? 
May  we  not  expect  much  from  improved  systems  of  morality  ? — 
for,  morals  being  in  fact  nothing  else  than  such  a  rule  of  life  as 
will  promote  the  greatest  degree  of  happiness  ;  and  the  art  of 
living  happily  being  as  much  an  experimental  art  as  any  other, 
will  it  not  be  making  a  continual  progress  in  human  societies, 
who  can  have  no  interest  so  dear  to  them  as  carrying  it  to  per- 
fection ?  This,  undoubtedly,  seems  a  plausible  deduction  ;  but, 
I  fear,  an  impartial  survey  of  history  will  not  permit  us  to  be 
very  sanguine  in  our  expectations.  Has  it,  in  reality,  appeared 
that  either  individuals  or  bodies  of  mew,  in  proportion  as  they 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  S27 

have  advanced  in  those  branches  of  knowledge  which  adorn  and 
elevate  the  species,  have  been  more  just,  more  temperate,  more 
beneficent  ? 

What  are  the  great  moral  evils  under  which  mankind  labour? 
Are  they  not,  with  respect  to  ourselves,  the  indulgence  of  our 
appetites  and  passions,  and  false  estimates  of  happiness,  pro- 
ceeding from  vicious  associations — with  respect  to  others,  the 
preference  we  give  to  our  own  interests  above  that  of  the  com- 
munity ? — And  are  not  these  propensities  interwoven  in  our  very 
nature,  and  only  to  be  controlled  by  a  long  course  of  discipline? 
Is  the  man  of  knowledge,  to  whom  so  many  new  sources  of  en- 
joyment are  opened,  less  likely  to  grasp  with  eagerness  at  the 
means  of  attaining  those  enjoyments,  than  the  illiterate  and  ea- 
sily satisfied  peasant  ?  Can  luxury  ever  be  separated  from  refine- 
ment, avarice  from  commerce,  or  rapacity  from  power  ?  It  is 
granted,  that  a  strong  and  enlightened  system  of  government 
may  check  many  of  the  public  mischiefs  which  would  flow  from 
these  sources  ;  but  how,  without  intolerable  restraints  upon  free- 
dom of  action,  shall  it  prevent  the  private  ones  ?  Look  at  our 
manufacturing  towns,  and  try  to  separate,  even  in  idea,  the  vices 
and  miseries  that  overrun  them,  from  the  circumstance  of  a  vast 
population  composed  of  artificers,  who,  if  their  wages  are  low, 
must  employ  their  whole  time  in  providing  the  necessaries  of 
life ;  if  high,  will  lie  under  temptations  to  excess,  which  they 
have  no  principles  that  can  enable  them  to  resist.  The  almost 
insuperable  difficulties  experienced  in  every  plan  for  amending 
the  state  of  the  yearly  increasing  poor  in  great  towns,  sufficiently 
evinces  the  intimate  connection  between  private  calamity,  and 
what  has  always  appeared  to  constitute  public  prosperity. 

The  new  order  of  things  which  seemed  opening  upon  Europe, 
afforded  no  prospect  more  flattering  to  the  lovers  of  mankind, 
than  that  of  a  probable  extinction  of  the  wars  which  from  the 
earliest  records  have  never  ceased  to  ravage  the  world.  It  was 
Tery  plausibly  argued,  that  since  nothing  was  more  demonstra- 
ble than  the  preponderance  of  evil  which  a  war  brought  even 
upon  the  successful  party,  as  soon  as  nations  should  become  ca- 
pable of  pursuing  as  well  as  discovering  their  true  interests,  the" 
sword  would  no  longer  be  resorted  to  for  the  decision  of  their 
differences.  But  the  first  consequence  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion has  been  a  very  extensive  and  most  bloody  war,  entered  into 
with  as  much  eagerness  and  animosity  by  the  several  parties  as 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

any  former  one;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  three  potentates  have 
joined  unmolested  in  a  scheme  of  sharing  between  them  one  of 
the  principal  portions  of  Europe,  and  abolishing  a  rising  liberty 
which  had  every  plea  of  justice  in  its  favour.  Nor  does  it  ap- 
pear, that  a  temporary  peace  can  be  restored  without  leaving 
abundant  seeds  of  future  discord  ;  or  that  even  the  greatest  suf- 
ferers by  the  war,  are  likely  to  be  cured  of  the  fatal  propensity 
to  rush  again  into  quarrels  on  the  slightest  occasions  of  ambition 
or  contention.  War  is  in  so  many  ways  the  author  of  misery, 
and  the  obstacle  of  melioration,  that  unless  somewhat  decisive 
shall  be  effected  for  abolishing  it  from  the  ordinary  course  of 
human  affairs,  it  may  be  affirmed,  that  nothing  comparatively  is 
done  towards  a  better  state  of  things.  The  propensity  to  national 
hostility  has  already  withstood  all  the  efforts  of  a  religion  appa- 
rently promulgated  for  the  express  purpose  of  restoring  peace  on 
earth.  It  did  not,  even  when  its  influence  was  strongest,  bestow 
the  shortest  breathing-time  on  mankind :  and  its  ministers  have 
long  been,  and  are  at  the  present  day,  some  of  the  most  active 
promoters  of  the  horrid  spirit  of  mutual  enmity.  The  banner  is 
consecrated  at  the  altar  before  it  is  dipped  in  blood  ;  and  pravers 
are  solemnly  offered  up  in  every  church  in  Christendom  for  suc- 
cess in  every  act  of  public  violence  that  the  sovereign  of  each 
country  shall  please  to  engage  jn. 

The  spirit  of  commerce  too,  which  so  much  distinguishes  the 
present  age,  instead  of  binding  the  nations  in  a  golden  chain  of 
mutual  peace  and  friendship,  seems  only  to  have  given  additional 
motives  for  war.  Each  state  aims  at  a  monopoly,  only  to  be  es- 
tablished by  an  armed  force  ;  and  the  improvements  of  naviga- 
tion have  contracted  the  dimensions  of  the  world  so  as  not  to 
allow  space  enough  for  the  schemes  of  a  merchant's  counting- 
house.  Further,  the  present  system  of  trade  can  only  be  main- 
tained by  the  slavery  or  subjugation  of  great  numbers  of  man- 
kind ;  and  while  the  East  and  West  Indies  compose  links  in  the 
chain  of  European  commerce,  cruelty  and  injustice  must  be  the 
means  by  which  it  is  made  to  hold  together. 

From  these  considerations,  I  fear,  we  hane  very  insufficient 
grounds  to  suppose,  that  the  desired  melioration  of  the  world 
upon  public  principles  is  as  yet  commenced.  All  that  a  compa- 
rison of  this  century  with  the  last  will  allow  us  with  certainty  to 
infer,  is  greater  lenity  and  regularity  in  the  administration  of 
government  in  some  countries  ;  more  encouragement  to  the  ex- 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  329 

ertions  of  industry;  and  a  desire  in  governors  to  participate  in 
the  improvements  made  by  art  and  science,  which  has  the  good 
effect  of  inciting  them  to  encourage  the  means  of  advancing  use- 
ful knowledge,  though  often  from  narrow  and  selfish  motives.  If, 
in  opposition  to  these  advantages,  be  set  the  prodigious  increase 
of  standing  armies  ;  the  vast  accumulation  of  national  debts  and 
burthens  ;  and  the  extinction  of  a  spirit  of  independence  in  num- 
bers of  the  middle  and  superior  ranks  of  society,  while  the  lowest 
are  doomed  to  ceaseless  toil  in  order  to  gain  a  mere  subsistence, 
I  question  if  the  most  sanguine  friend  of  mankind  can  strike  a 
fair  balance  which  will  give  him  much  satisfaction. 

But,  not  to  dwell  entirely  upon  the  dark  side  of  the  prospect, 
I  shall  state  a  few  circumstances  of  private  improvement,  on 
which  I  think  we  may  safely  place  some  reliance. 

It  is  impossible  to  doubt  that,  in  all  the  more  civilised  parts 
of  the  world,  superstition  and  bigotry,  those  bitter  foes  of  human 
happiness,  have  lost  much  of  their  power  ;  and  that  this  has  been 
owing  to  that  progress  of  good  sense  and  knowledge  which  may 
be  expected  to  go  on  still  further  diminishing  their  influence.  It 
is  true,  the  connection  between  old  systems  of  belief  and  old 
claims  of  authority,  may  for  a  while  maintain  the  struggle  of 
falsehood  and  violence,  against  truth  and  equity  ;  but  I  would 
fain  hope  that  imposture  and  persecution  have  received  their 
death  wound  in  Europe,  and  will  never  again  be  able  to  produce 
the  follies  and  miseries  under  which  men  so  many  ages  groaned. 
Religious  systems  are  still,  indeed,  full  of  error,  and  are  little,  if 
at  all,  mended  in  their  principles  ;  but  the  spirit  of  the  times  has 
been  too  potent  for  them,  and  doubt  or  indifference  has  effected 
what  mere  argument  could  not  have  done.  Emancipation  from, 
the  servile  dread  of  supernatural  evils,  and  from  theburthensome 
and  degrading  practices  by  which  they  were  to  be  averted,  is  a 
gain  in  point  of  happiness  which  cannot  be  too  highly  prized.  It 
enters  deep  into  the  comfort  of  private  life,  and  makes  all  the 
difference  between  a  freeman  and  a  slave.  And  that  increased 
lenity  in  governments  and  liberality  in  individuals,  which  ren- 
ders the  profession  of  a  different  religious  faith  from  the  estab- 
lished one,  no  longer  dangerous  or  degrading,  is  a  most  impor- 
tant advantage  to  all  dissidents. 

The  great  diffusion  of  knowledge,  though  perhaps  of  a  super- 
ficial kind,  among  ranks  of  people  who  formerly  possessed 
scarcely  the  smallest  portion  of  it,  has  certainly  added  much  to 
Tt 


330  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

the  pleasures  and  variety  of  life  ;  and  if  it  has  tended  to  soften 
and  humanise  the  manners,  and  introduced  a  greater  love  for  se- 
dentary amusements,  and  the  pursuits  of  cultivated  leisure,  I 
own  1  am  one  of  those  who  think  this  a  good  exchange  against 
the  rough  vigour  and  rude  simplicity  of  former  ages.  Nor  can 
it  escape  any  observer,  that  even  the  amusive  writings  of  the 
present  day  are  almost  invariably  friendly  to  decency,  human- 
ity, generosity,  and  all  the  finer  and  nobler  feelings  of  the  heart. 
And  as  a  consequence  of  the  propagation  of  such  sentiments,  the 
virtues  of  chanty,  beneficence,  and  affability,  were  certainly  ne- 
ver more  conspicuous.  From  these  considerations,  I  am  not  will- 
ing to  accept  the  concession  of  a  very  zealous  believer  in  the 
progression  of  the  human  race,  the  late  Condorcet,  who  asserts 
"that  though  much  has  been  done  for  the  glory  of  mankind, 
scarcely  any  thing  has  yet  been  done  for  its  happiness.*'  It  is 
true,  that  the  continuance  of  destructive  wars,  and  of  the  im- 
mense inequality  of  conditions,  perpetuates  a  vast  mass  of  evils 
in  society  ;  yet  these  evils,  which  at  no  period  did  not  exist,  are 
undoubtedly  softened  by  modern  manners  ;  and  private  life  has 
in  various  respects  been  made  happier  to  all  ranks  of  people, 

But  I  own  that  the  very  circumstance  of  some  improvement  in 
these  points,  leads  me  to  despair  of  those  radical  and  effectual 
meliorations  which  many  expect  from  vigorous  schemes  of  reform, 
conducted  upon  principles  of  general  interest  and  public  virtue. 
Our  situation  has  too  many  advantages  to  be  readily  hazarded  ; 
and  the  exertions  requisite  to  maintain  those  advantages  too 
much  occupy  our  minds  to  allow  of  the  application  of  much  time 
and  attention  to  matters  remotely  concerning  ourselves.  Our 
tempers,  too,  with  the  sternness,  have  lost  the  force,  of  the  he- 
roic ages  ;  nor  do  1  conceive  that  any  considerable  number  of  us 
would  be  capable  of  going  through  the  rough  work  of  a  reforma- 
tion when  brought  from  theory  to  practice.  It  the  instance  of  a 
neighbouring  nation  be  brought  to  refute  the  notion  of  a  ne- 
cessary connection  between  advancement  in  civilisation  and  ef- 
feminacy of  character;  it  may  be  urged,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the 
shocking  calamities  which  have  attended  its  revolutionary  exer- 
tions will  with  certainty  for  a  long  time  render  its  history  more  a 
warning  than  an  example  to  other  nations.  Melioration,  according 
to  its  warmest  advocates,  cannot  be  effected  without  overthrowing 
all  usurpations  in  government,  all  impositions  in  religion,  rooting 
up  all  prejudices,  levelling  all  artificial  distinctions,  and  equal- 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  331 

izing  mankind  so  far  as  can  be  done  consistently  with  the  funda- 
mental principles  of  social  union.  But  where  are  the  engines 
by  which  these  mighty  operations  are  to  be  brought  about  ?  The 
pulpit,  the  bar,  the  sword,  are  already  engaged  in  support  of  ex- 
isting institutions;  and  the  press,  on  which  the  chief  reliance  of 
reformers  is  placed,  is  at  least  half  bought  by  the  same  powerful 
bidders.  Not  a  single  axiom  on  which  the  rights  of  man  are 
founded,  has  been  able  to  fix  itself  beyond  the  reach  of  assault. 
All  is  disputed  ;  and  where  argument  fails,  authority  is  called 
in  to  give  succour ;  while  wit  and  eloquence  fight  indiscrimi- 
nately on  either  side. 

I  shall  conclude  with  one  more  reflection  which  forcibly  presses 
upon  me.  All  the  proofs  that  have  been  adduced  of  the  amend- 
ed state  of  mankind,  and  all  that  I  have  admitted  as  real  or 
probable,  relate  only  to  Europe  and  her  immediate  connec- 
tions, and  not  even  to  the  whole  of  that.  But  what  a  small  por- 
tion of  the  human  race  does  this  comprehend  !  The  last  ac- 
counts of  China  state  the  population  of  that  empire  alone  at  up- 
wards of  three  hundred  millions,  of  which  sum  all  Europe  can 
only  show  a  trifling  fraction.  Who  can  with  the  least  proba- 
bility suggest  improvement  in  that  ancient,  vain  and  prejudiced 
people,  who  only  know  enough  of  us  and  our  institutions  to  sus- 
pect and  despise  us  ?  Who  pretends  to  see  less  ferocity  in  the 
African,  less  pride  in  the  Turk,  less  rapine  in  the  Arab,  less 
perfidy  in  the  Indian,  less  cruelty  in  the  Persian  ?  Alas  !  while 
we  are  overwhelmed  at  home  with  business  enough  to  occupy 
reformation  for  centuries,  all  these  vast  regions  have  not  yet 
heard  the  word  sound  in  their  ears,  and  would  probably  shud- 
der at  the  proposal  of  any  innovation  as  the  direst  of  crimes  ! 
The  imagination  can  scarcely  conceive  that  change  which  should 
render  our  books,  our  knowledge,  our  opinions,  familiar  to  these 
people.  Nothing  but  entire  conquest  would  seem  anywise  ade- 
quate to  this  effect ;  and  what  a  Pandora's  box  does  that  word 
conquest  comprise  !  Better,  surely,  that  the  world  should  re- 
main in  its  present  mixed  and  imperfect  state,  than  that  an  uni- 
formity of  good  should  be  aimed  at  by  means  which  are  them- 
selves the  greatest  of  evils  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 


ON  TOLERATION  IN  RUSSIA. 


THERE  has  lately  been  published  by  a  German  divine  an 
account  of  the  state  of  religious  toleration  in  Russia,  which  ap- 
pears to  me  not  only  to  contain  some  curious  matter  of  fact,  but 
to  afford  important  matter  for  reflection  also.  Both  these  will 
form  the  topics  of  the  following  paper. 

For  three  centuries  past  it  has  been  the  practice  of  the  Russian 
sovereigns  to  indulge  strangers  in  the  free  enjoyment  of  their  re- 
ligious worship ;  and  under  the  name  of  strangers  appear  to  have 
been  included  those  numerous  tribes  or  nations  which  have  been 
adopted  into  the  Russian  empire  by  submission  or  conquest. 
This  policy  has  probably  been  derived  from  the  Turks  and  other 
eastern  nations;  and  it  has,  in  later  reigns,  been  enforced  by  the 
necessity  of  inviting  strangers  in  order  to  carry  into  effect  the 
great  plans  of  civilisation  and  improvement,  which  have  been 
transmitted  from  one  sovereign  to  another.  The  Account  in 
question  was  drawn  up  in  the  time  of  the  late  empress  Catherine, 
whose  managing  spirit  reduced  this,  like  every  other  public  con- 
cern, into  a  system.  The  following  are  its  essential  points. 
All  religions  are  tolerated  in  Russia.  Christian  of  every  deno- 
mination, Jew,  Mahometan,  Pagan,  may  each  worship  his  God  or 
Gods/  in  the  way  his  father  has  done  before  him.  Neither  is 
there  any  thing  like  a  religious  test  for  admission  to  public  of- 
fices. The  first  persons  in  the  civil  and  military  departments 
are  Greek,  Roman-catholic,  Lutheran,  Calvinist,  &c.  as  it  may 
happen.  The  sovereign's  choice  is  a  sufficient  qualification  ; 
nothing  exists  to  control  it.  Yet  there  is  a  national  church, 
strongly  marked  by  its  privileges,  and  perfectly  secured  against 
that  dread  of  all  churches,  innovation.  In  the  first  place,  though 
the  different  sectaries  may  change  at  pleasure  from  one  church 
to  another,  yet  the  true  native  Russian  must  inviolably  adhere 
to  the  religion  in  which  he  is  born,  the  Greek:  any  change  in 
him  is  apostacy ;  and  foreign  ecclesiastics  are  forbidden  to  re- 
ceive a  Russian  into  their  communities.  Nay,  if  a  foreigner 
once  conforms  to  the  established  religion,  he  is  fixed  in  it  for 
ever.  If  a  foreigner's  children,  in  defect  of  a  minister  of  his 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  333 

own  persuasion,  chance  to  receive  baptism  from  a  Greek  priest, 
they  must  likewise  ever  remain  members  of  the  national  church. 
Moreover,  in  marriages  between  a  Russian  and  a  foreigner,  the 
offspring,  without  a  very  particular  dispensation  fro'm  the  court, 
must  be  brought  up  in  the  Greek  faith.  The  marriage  ceremony, 
even  of  strangers,  must  always  be  performed  according  to  the 
Russian  ritual  ;  but  this,  indeed,  imposes  no  subsequent  obliga- 
tion on  the  parties,  or  their  children. 

Such  is  the  plan  philosophical  despotism  has  formed  for  the 
management  of  religion  in  a  great  empire  ;  and  I  doubt  not  there 
are  many  who  will  admire  it  as  an  extraordinary  effort  both  of 
liberality  and  of  good  policy.  It  may  seem  to  unite  in  the  hap- 
piest manner  the  support  of  a  national  church  with  a  regard  to 
the  rights  of  conscience  in  those  who  have  been  educated  in  a 
different  communion ;  and  may  be  thought  equally  to  guard 
against  the  evils  of  innovation,  and  those  of  a  forced  uniformity. 
For  myself,  however,  I  cannot  but  consider  it  as  a  remarkable 
instance  of  the  impudence  of  power — of  the  propensity  of  mortals 
elevated  by  station  above  their  fellow-creatures,  to  assume  the 
prerogative  of  dictating  to  them  in  their  most  important  con- 
cerns. The  spirit  of  the  preceding  regulations  is  this — "  All 
religions  are  equal — equally  true,  or  equally  false.  It  is  useful 
to  the  sovereign  to  have  a  prevailing  one  under  his  special  in- 
fluence and  protection  ;  yet  it  is  not  worth  while  to  quarrel  with 
strangers,  or  deprive  the  state  of  their  services,  for  the  sake  of 
uniformity.  Subjects,  however,  are  to  be  taught,  that  the  choice 
of  religion  does  not  belong  to  them,  but  to  their  master.  They 
are  to  follow  authority  in  that,  as  in  any  other  matter  of  civil  re- 
gulation ;  and  it  would  be  punishable  presumption  in  them  to 
decide  for  themselves,  as  if  they  had  any  concern  in  the  conclu- 
sion. A  person  may  be  of  any  religion  he  is  commanded  to  be 
— he  may  bring  his  soul  to  submit  as  well  as  his  body  ;  and  no 
duty  can  be  supposed  to  supersede  that  of  absolute  submission  to 
the  sovereign."  This  manner  of  considering  the  subject  is,  in 
fact,  a  greater  affront  to  the  human  understanding,  than  the 
power  assumed  by  a  Spanish  Inquisition.  The  latter  founds  all 
its  authority  upon  the  supposition  that  what  it  maintains  is  ex- 
clusively the  truth,  arid  truth  of  the  highest  importance  to  man- 
kind ;  and  its  effects  to  make  conviction  the  basis  of  that  uni- 
formity of  belief  and  practice  which  it  compels.  It  equally,  in- 
deed, with  the  other,  denies  the  right  of  private  judgment ;  but  it 


334  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

is  on  the  plea  that  the  matter  has  already  been  judged  by  the 
only  competent  tribunal  ;  and  it  will  not  permit  reasons  of  state 
or  local  circumstances  to  sway  the  decision  of  points  not  amen- 
able to  civil  jurisdiction.     The  Russian  scheme  is  evidently 
formed  upon  political   considerations;  but  it  is  accommodated 
only  to  a  nation,  the  great  body  of  which  are  stupid  barbarians. 
It  proves  that  despots,  with  all  the  free  thinking  they  may  pro- 
fess, are  only  half  philosophers.     They  would  gladly  enjoy  all 
the  benefit  which  can  arise  from  the  mental  energies  of  their 
slaves,    without    taking    off  their    shackles    when    acting    for 
themselves.     Bui  to  reduce  the  mind  to  such  a  state  of  disci- 
pline is  beyond  their  power.     It  will  not  be  limited  in  its  exer- 
tions.    It  will  not  expand  itself  freely  upon  topics  of  compara- 
tively small  consequence,  and  pass  over  those  of  the  greatest. 
While  the  native  Russians  are  to  be  mere  hewers  of  wood,  and 
drawers  of  water,  they  may  perhaps  be  made  to  continue  to  wor- 
ship pictures  bought  at  their  god  shops,  and  fast  and  pray  just  as 
their  priests  bid  them.     But  if  the  noble  plan  is  really  pursued 
of  reclaiming  a  great  people  from  barbarism,  and  placing  them  on 
a  level  with  the  most  enlightened  nations  of  Europe,  they  must 
be  allowed  at  least  as  much  liberty  as  the  strangers  who  come 
to  teach  them,  and  not  have  their  religion  chosen  for  them  like  a 
footman's  livery,  or  a  soldier's  regimentals.    How  mean  and  bar- 
barous is  this  policy,  as  well  as  every  other  scheme  for  restrain- 
ing free  inquiry,  compared  with  the  simple  transatlantic  plan  of 
leaving  religion,  like  other  matters  of  individual  concern,  to  the 
care  of  individuals  themselves,  secure  that  it  can  never  injure 
the  peace  of  a  well  regulated  state,  as  long  as  the  state  abstains 
from  interposing  in  its  differences  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  335 

MILITARY  PIETY. 


"  WAR,*  (says  an  eminent  writer)  is  so  bad  a  thing,  that  no- 
thing but  a  mixture  of  religion  can  make  it  worse."  This,  how- 
ever, by  no  means  appears  to  be  the  general  opinion,  and  the 
union  of  the  military  and  religious  character  is  one  of  the  most 
popular  ideas  of  the  time.  Indeed  it  could  scarcely  be  other- 
wise, when  we  are  engaged  in  a  war,  one  great  object  of  which 
is  the  support  of  religion  of  every  species  against  atheism  and 
impiety ;  and  when  we  have  the  happiness  to  be  connected  with 
allies  so  distinguished  for  religious  zeal.  It  is  peculiarly  edify- 
ing to  be  informed  of  the  exemplary  regularity  observed  by  that 
humane  and  civilised  body,  the  Russian  soldiery,  in  the  perform- 
ance of  their  devotions  This,  indeed,  is  not  to  be  wondered  at, 
since  the  very  robbers  of  that  nation  are  equally  punctilious  in 
this  respect.  We  are  told  by  a  writer  of  credit,  that  a  famous 
Russian  leader  of  banditti,  whose  thirst  for  human  blood  was 
such,  that  he  was  accustomed  to  tie  his  captives  to  a  tree,  and 
open  their  breasts  while  alive,  in  order  that  he  might  drink  the 
vital  fluid  fresh  and  warm ;  on  being  asked  by  his  confessor,  as 
he  was  led  to  execution,  whether  he  had  duly  observed  the  fasts 
and  festivals  of  the  church  ?  was  affronted  with  the  question,  and 
in  his  turn  asked  the  priest  whether  he  did  not  take  him  for  a 
Christian  ?  Under  the  late  conscientious  empress  Catherine,  the 
Russian  court-manifestoes  were  remarkable  beyond  any  in  Eu- 
rope for  solemn  appeals  to  the  Deity ;  and  it  is  to  be  presumed 
that  her  successor  has  not  degenerated  in  this  point.  The  ac- 
counts that  have  been  published  of  the  devotional  spirit  of  the 
celebrated  conqueror  of  Ismael  and  Praga,  cannot  fail  of  giving 
high  delight  to  those  who  regard  him  as  the  destined  restorer  of 
monarchy  and  Catholicism  in  France.  As  there  is  always  some- 
thing interesting  in  the  parallels  between  great  men  in  different 
periods,  I  shall  beg  leave  to  place  beside  these  the  sketch  given 
by  Brantome  of  an  illustrious  commander  of  his  time,  also  a  dis- 
tinguished chief  in  a  catholic  league,  the  constable  of  France, 
Anne  de  Montmorenci. 


Written  during  the  French  revolution  war. 


336  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

"  Every  morning  (says  the  historian)  whether  he  was  at  home 
or  in  the  army,  on  a  march  or  in  camp,  he  never  neglected  to  re- 
cite and  hear  his  paternosters.  But  it  was  a  saying  among  the 
soldiers,  *  Take  care  of  the  paternosters  of  Monsieur  the  Con- 
stable ;'  for  whilst  he  was  muttering  them  over,  he  would  throw 
in,  by  way  of  parenthesis,  as-the  occasions  of  discipline  or  war 
demanded,  '  Hang  me  that  fellow  on  the  next  tree — pass  me  that 
other  through  the  pikes — bring  me  hither  that  man  and  shoot  him 
before  my  face — cut  me  in  pieces  all  those  rascals  who  are  so 
audacious  as  to  defend  that  steeple  against  the  king — burn  me 
that  village — set  fire  to  all  the  country  for  a  quarter  of  a  league 
round  :'  and  all  this  he  would  do  without  the  least  interruption 
to  his  devotions,  which  he  would  have  thought  it  a  sin  to  defer  to 
another  hour,  so  tender  was  his  conscience!" 

This  I  think  an  admirable  picture  of  a  soldier's  devotion  ;  and 
though  it  is  not  quite  suited  to  an  English  camp  or  quarter-deck, 
it  would,  I  suppose,  appear  natural  enough  in  a  Russian  field 
marshal,  or  a  bashaw  of  three-tails  ;  whom  we  are  now  so  happy 
as  to  be  entitled  in  some  measure  to  call  our  own. 


INQUIRY  INTO  THE  NATURE  OF  FAMILY  PRIDE. 


MORALISTS  and  Divines  agree  in  the  condemnation  of  pride, 
from  whatever  source  it  is  derived  ;  but  some  kinds  of  it  have 
ever  been  treated  with  lighter  censure  than  others  ;  and  some,  in 
the  common  estimate,  have  even  been  elevated  into  laudable 
principles  of  action,  and  have  been  supposed  to  denote  an  exalt- 
ed soul.  The  pride  of  virtue  among  the  ancient  philosophers, 
especially  of  the  Stoic  sect,  though  it  was  apt  to  inspire  an  arro- 
gant and  unamiable  demeanor,  certainly  in  many  cases  raised 
the  mind  above  every  thing  mean  and  vulgar,  and  proved  an  in- 
citement to  worthy  conduct.  Similar  effects  have  usually  been, 
attributed  to  tine  pride  of  family;  and  no  common  place  is  more 
frequent  in  works  of  fiction,  and  even  in  popular  morality,  than 
the  influence  of  high  descent  in  dignifying  the  sentiments,  and 
prompting  to  noble  deeds.  It  is  obvious,  that  the  reality  of  such 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  337 

effects  must  depend  upon  the  character  and  foundation  of  this 
species  of  pride;  for  the  mere  affection  of  pride,  consisting  in  a 
high  estimate  of  one's-self,  is  more  likely  to  debase  than  to  en- 
noble, to  repress  than  to  rouse,  since  it  supposes  the  object  al- 
ready attained  for  the  sake  of  which  great  exertions  are  made. 
Let  us  therefore  inquire  into  the  actual  source  of  family  pride, 
as  prevailing  among  ourselves.  It  is  possible,  that  its  character 
may  admit  of  different  shades  and  variations  from  local  circum- 
stances ;  yet  I  should  imagine,  that  it  must  every  where  derive 
its  essence  from  the  general  principles  of  human  nature. 

There  are  two  grounds  upon  which  a  sentiment  of  this  kind 
may  be  made  to  appear  not  unreasonable ;  one,  the  supposition 
that  superior  qualities  are  actually  transmitted  in  certain  fami- 
lies by  pro-creation  ;  the  other,  that  descendants  possess  a  sort 
of  inheritance  in  the  public  merits  of  their  ancestors. 

With  respect  to  the  first,  as  it  is  an  undoubted  fact,  that  not 
only  the  bodily  but  the  mental  constitution  of  parents  is,  in  some 
degree,  renovated  in  their  children ;  it  was  no  improbable  opinion 
that  those  qualities  which  in  a  rude  state  of  society  had  raised 
the  possessors  above  their  fellows,  should,  for  a  time  at  least, 
shine  conspicuous  in  their  lineal  progeny.  A  race  of  Heraclidee 
might  long  be  distinguished  by  a  portion  of  the  strength  and  for 
titude  of  their  great  progenitor.  Horace,  by  the  analogy  of  the 
brute  creation,  supports  his  position  of 

tc  Fortes  creantur fortibits  et  bonis:" 

"  The  brave  and  good  produce  the  good  and  brave." 

It  was  unfortunate,  that  the  race  of  human  beings  by  whom  he 
exemplified  his  doctrine,  was  the  family  of  the  Nero's ;  but  he 
was  a  poet  and  not  a  prophet,  and  could  not  foresee  how  soon  a 
name  which  great  qualities  had  raised  to  honour,  might  be  ren- 
dered eternally  infamous  by  the  vices  of  a  degenerate  offspring. 
In  more  modern  times  it  has  been  asserted,  that  valour,  honour, 
and  good  sense,  have  been  hereditary  in  certain  families  ;  and 
epitaphs  have  told  of  noble  breeds  of  which  "  all  the  males  were 
brave,  and  all  the  females  virtuous."  But  in  a  long  line,  so  many 
accidents  may  happen  to  interrupt  the  stream  of  propagated  ex- 
cellencies, that  I  presume  the  credit  of  such  pretensions  is  quite 
at  an  end.  Nor  do  I  suppose,  that  the  inheritors  of  high  blood 
would  themselves  be  forward  to  put  in  claims  which  might  excite 
too  large  expectations  in  the  public.  Who  would  venture  topro- 
Uu 


338  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

fess  himself  an  heir  to  the  political  wisdom  of  a  Cecil,  or  the 
military  talents  of  a  Churchill  ?  The  truth  is,  that  natural  per 
fections  of  mind  and  body  are  indifferently  the  lot  ofallcondi 
tions  of  life ;  and  the  chance  is  just  the  same,  as  far  as  birth  is 
concerned,  thai  a  Bacon  or  a  Newton  should  honour  the  palace 
or  the  cottage.  Every  thing  further  is  the  result  of  education ; 
and  whether  that  of  the  great  be  best  adapted  to  carry  the  human 
species  to  its  highest  degree  of  perfection,  may  be  left  to  the 
great  themselves  to  determine.  Scarcely  any  man,  therefore, 
is  probably  proud  of  his  descent  on  the  supposition,  that  he  has 
derived  from  it  moral  or  intellectual  endowments  superior  to 
those  of  mankind  in  general.  And  with  respect  to  the  body,  they 
who  talk,  almost  as  if  they  understood  it  literally,  of  the  purity 
of  the  blood  which  flows  in  their  veins,  must  be  perpetually  re- 
called from  the  pleasing  delusion,  by  the  homeliness,  deformi- 
ties, and  hereditary  diseases,  which  render  so  many  noble  races 
extremely  bad  specimens  of  the  human  form  divine. 

The  supposed  participation  in  the  merits  of  ancestors  is  next 
to  be  considered  as  a  ground  of  family  pride. 

The  public  gratitude,  which,  in  its  displays,  has  frequently 
comprehended  with  the  person  of  a  public  benefactor  those  of  his 
children,  and  even  of  his  remote  descendants,  has  given  a  sane 
tion  to  this  notion  of  transmitted  merit,  and  proved  it  to  have  a 
foundation  in  human  nature.  Yet  reason  and  reflection  must 
teach,  that  every  tribute  paid  by  society  on  this  account,  has  its 
just  bounds;  that  present  demerit  may  cancel  all  the  claims  of 
past  desert ;  and  that  even  length  of  time  may  obliterate  the 
debt.  We  can  scarcely  conceive  of  services  so  great,  that  they 
may  not  be  repaid  in  honour  and  emolument,  if  not  to  the  person 
himself,  at  least  to  his  immediate  representatives  ;  and  it  is  evi- 
dent, that,  were  public  rewards  to  be  perpetuated  to  all  poster- 
ity, future  generations  would  find  the  stock  anticipated,  by 
which  they  should  remunerate  benefits  of  their  own  growth.  In 
order  to  establish  a  just  title  to  the  honours  associated  with  a 
noble  name,  along  with  the  name  there  should  be  a  transmission 
of  a  portion  of  the  character  and  principles  which  first  made  it 
the  object  of  respect.  If  a  race  of  Publicolas  think  it  a  duty  af- 
fixed to  their  appellation,  to  continue  from  age  to  age  the  guar- 
dians of  the  people'.-  rights,  they  will  continue  entitled  to  their 
attachment  and  venerat'on  ;  but  if  they  dwindle  down  to  the  sa- 
tellites of  a  court,  how  shall  they  dare  to  arrogate  respect  on 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  339 

account  ot"  their  relation  to  ancestors  whose  principles  they  have 
renounced,  and  whose  actions,  by  their  own  conduct,  they  disa- 
vow ?  No  consideration,  indeed,  ought  to  be  more  awful,  or  even 
oppressive  to  the  mind,  than  that  of  being  the  representative  ot 
men  whose  remembrance  will  ever  live  in  the  breasts  of  their 
admiring  countrymen  :  for  what  is  its  effect,  but  that  of  provid- 
ing a  perpetual  fund  for  humiliating  comparisons?  This  is  the 
topic  particularly  dwelt  upon,  with  a  mixture  of  humour  and  in- 
dignation, by  the  manly  Juvenal,  in  his  energetic  satire  upon 
nobility. 

But  the  claim  to  public  reverence  on  account  of  the  signal 
merits  of  ancestors,  be  it  well  or  ill  founded,  cannot  possibly 
come  within  the  view  of  a  great  majority  of  those  who  boast  of 
family.  From  the  august  genealogies  of  kings  and  emperors, 
down  to  the  pedigrees  of  country  squires,  how  few  are  there 
which  can  exhibit  characters  of  distinguished  virtue  or  abilities, 
or  to  whom  their  country  can  justly  be  reckoned  indebted  !  If 
names  now  and  then  occur,  which  the  historian  has  deigned  to 
record  among  the  actors  in  memorable  events,  it  is  to  be  consi- 
dered, that  high  stations  are  necessarily  the  lot  of  property  and 
influence ;  and  that  transactions  of  great  moment,  which  are 
conducted  by  the  united  exertions  of  many,  are  often  ascribed  to 
an  individual,  who  had  no  other  share  in  them,  than  that  of  being 
the  nominal  head.  Battles  are  gained,  and  negotiations  brought 
to  effect,  under  the  auspices  of  persons  of  rank,  in  whose  abili- 
ties perhaps  not  the  least  confidence  is  placed  even  by  those  who 
employ  them.  They  merely  serve  for  the  decoration ;  while  all 
the  real  business  is  done  by  men  not  highly  born  enough  to  dis- 
pense with  professional  knowledge.  Thus  the  brave  and  skilful 
Chevert  obtained  a  victory  and  a  marshal's  staff  for  the  prince 
de  Soubise ;  concerning  which  it  was  wittily  said  in  an  epigram, 
"  Who  should  have  the  staff,  but  he  who  cannot  walk  alone  ?" 
But  without  entering  into  a  rigorous  scrutiny,  but  making  a  li- 
beral allowance  of  every  imputed  public  service,  it  may  be  asked, 
Will  our  men  of  family  consent  to  take  precedence,  according 
to  the  aggregate  of  meritorious  deeds  recorded  of  the  whole  race? 
It  will  not,  I  believe,  come  under  the  charge  of  scandalum  mag- 
natum  to  affirm,  that  the  nobility  and  gentry,  neither  of  this,  nor 
of  any  other  country,  would  acquiesce  in  such  a  proposal.  In 
fact,  a  person  must  be  little  acquainted  with  the  sentiments  that 
really  prevail  in  the  world,  to  suppose  that  the  pride  of  ancestry 


340  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

has,  in  general,  any  connection  whatever  with  merit,  either  gen- 
uine or  imputed.  Its  grounds  are,  simply,  relative  superiority  ot 
condition,  together  with  the  length  of  time  in  which  that  supe- 
riority has  been  enjoyed.  It  is,  therefore,  no  other  than  a  modi- 
fication of  the  pride  of  wealth  ;  and  while  more  absurd  in  its  ap- 
plication than  this  sentiment,  it  is  not  at  all  more  elevated  or 
dignified  in  its  nature. 

The  English  nobleman  who  traces  his  lineage  to  one  "  who 
came  in  with  the  Conqueror,"  is  content  to  refer  his  origin  to  a 
soldier  of  fortune,  a  subaltern  leader  of  banditti,  who,  for  his  as- 
sistance in  turning  out  the  lawful  possessors,  was  rewarded  with 
a  share  of  their  property.  He  was  brave,  as  were  all  his  Norman 
countrymen.  The  greedy  appetite  for  spoil  would  lead  him,  as 
it  would  the  meanest  of  his  band,  to  confront  any  dangers  ;  but 
he  was  ignorant,  unlettered,  unprincipled,  and  brutal.  By  the 
number  of  vassals  he  brought  into  the  field,  was  estimated  the 
proportion  of  conquered  land  that  fell  to  his  share  ;  and  this  pro- 
portion constituted  the  sole  difference  between  the  greater  and 
the  inferior  families  built  upon  this  foundation.  Where  the  spoil 
was  half  or  the  whole  of  a  county,  it  gave  rise  to  an  earldom  or 
barony,  which,  descending  through  various  fortunes  to  the  present 
time,  has  conferred  the  highest  hereditary  honours  this  kingdom 
affords.  Now,  the  original  mode  in  which  this  property  was  ac- 
quired, certainly  conveys  no  valuable  lesson  to  a  descendant ; 
and  amidst  the  train  through  which  it  has  successively  passed, 
may  probably  be  found  all  that  variety  of  character  and  conduct 
which  the  human  condition,  joined  to  power  and  wealth,  is  likely 
to  produce.  Some  of  them  were,  of  course,  generals,  ministers, 
heads  of  factions,  now  on  the  royal,  now  on  the  popular  side,  as 
it  suited  their  interests ;  now  rewarded  with  new  honours  and 
possessions  as  supporters  of  the  crown,  now  attainted  and  brought 
to  the  scaffold  as  traitors.  "  Treason,  sacrilege,  and  proscrip- 
tion, (says  Gibbon,)  are  often  the  best  titles  of  ancient  nobility." 
Is  it,  then,  from  a  moral  or  intellectual  estimate  of  such  men  as 
these,  that  the  idea  of  a  noble  and  illustrious  race  is  derived  by 
the  judges  of  family  consequence — the  adepts  in  heraldry  and 
genealogy  ?  No. — It  is  quite  sufficient  for  them  to  trace  Bohuns 
and  Mowbrays  from  century  to  century,  as  the  possessors  of  cer- 
tain hereditary  honours,  and  the  owners  of  certain  manors  ;  and 
all  individuals  are  sunk  in  the  abstract  notion  of  a  great  house. 
The  Spaniards,  though  prouder  of  nobility  than  any  nation  in 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  341 

Europe  gave  to  their  original  great  landholders  only  the  appro- 
priate title  of  Ricos  Hombres — rich  men. 

The  untitled  country  gentleman  cannot  be  supposed  to  enter- 
tain more  elevated  ideas  of  ancestry  than  the  ennobled  patrician. 
The  connection  of  his  name  with  a  certain  parcel  of  land  at  a  re- 
mote period,  is  all  that  he  thinks  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  esta- 
blish in  proof  of  his  gentility;  and  the  measure  of  his  relative 
consequence  is  the  number  of  acres  in  this  land,  combined  with 
the  length  of  time  during  which  his  family  have  been  the  posses- 
sors of  it.  These  two  considerations,  it  is  true,  somewhat  inter 
fere ;  so  that  it  may  become  a  matter  of  doubt,  whether  an  ancient; 
race  of  small  property  be  not  more  honourable  than  a  more  mo- 
dern one  with  ampler  possessions  :  and  this  is  one  of  the  modi- 
fications by  which  the  pride  of  family  somewhat  differs  from  the 
simple  pride  of  wealth.  But  the  foundation  of  both  being  the 
same,  namely,  distinction  from  the  mass  of  people  by  a  superi- 
ority in  riches,  it  does  not  appear  how  the  mere  circumstance  of 
the  length  of  time  in  which  this  has  been  enjoyed,  can  constitute 
any  essential  difference  in  effect.  In  this  country,  where  cer- 
tainly more  sobriety  and  consistency  in  estimating  the  advan- 
tages of  life  prevail  than  in  most  others,  it  is  very  seldom  that 
the  proudest  gentleman  of  ancient  descent  will  refuse  to  ally 
himself  to  superior  wealth  and  influence,  how  recent  soever  be 
their  date*  What  is  usually  meant  when  it  is  said,  Such  an  one 
is  a  person  of  good  family?  Is  any  other  idea  excited,  than  that 
of  opulence  and  living  at  ease  ?  Do  not  we  immediately  paint 
to  ourselves  a  good  landed  estate,  a  rich  church  preferment,  or  a 
thriving  profession  ?  And  if  any  moral  notions  associate  them- 
selves with  the  word  good,  are  they  not  merely  such  as  naturally 
belong  to  a  condition  which  rises  above  the  ordinary  temptations 
to  meanness  and  dishonesty,  and  renders  it  easy  to  perform  acts 
of  generosity  and  liberality  ?  In  this  sense,  is  the  gentleman  of 
ancient  name  superior  to  the  wealthy  trader  of  yesterday  ? 

Whatever  be  the  forms  under  which  family  pride  appears,  they 
are  for  the  most  part  only  varieties  of  self-consequence  derived 
from  property.  Thus,  when  a  person  boasts  that  his  ancestors 
have  never  sullied  themselves  with  low  or  mercenary  employ- 
ments, what  is  it  but  boasting  that  they  have  been  able  to  live 
upon  their  hereditary  possessions,  without  any  exertions  of  per- 
sonal industry  ?  The  rich  trader  may  promise  the  same  here- 
after for  himself  and  his  descendants,  as  long  as  the  wealth  he 


342  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

has  accumulated  shall  last.  And  if  the  gentleman  falls  into  po- 
verty, what  becomes  of  his  boast  ?  He  will  scorn,  perhaps,  to 
cringe  behind  a  counter ;  but  he  will  not  scruple  to  bow  at  a 
minister's  levee.  He  will  think  it  beneath  him  to  practise  for 
gain  any  useful  talents  he  may  possess  ;  but  he  will  deem  it  hon- 
ourable to  let  himself  out  to  hire,  for  the  purpose  of  butchering 
those  who  never  offended  him,  on  the  mere  considerations  of  pay 
and  plunder.  He  will  be  a  venal  senator,  a  prostitute  lawyer,  or 
an  unbelieving  priest,  without  derogating  from  gentility.  But  is 
not  the  man  who  goes  to  market  with  his  conscience,  as  much  a 
trader  as  if  he  set  up  a  stall  at  a  fair  ;  with  this  difference  only, 
that  he  deals  in  a  viler  commodity  than  ever  came  out  of  a  ma- 
nufacturer's hands  ? 

Does  the  gentleman  value  himself  upon  his  education  and  man- 
ners ?  These,  too,  if  of  a  superior  kind,  have  only  been  rendered 
so  by  superiority  in  the  means  of  obtaining  improvement,  or  of 
appearing  in  society  with  respect  and  independence.  None  are 
at  present  better  educated,  than  the  children  of  many  who  have 
become  opulent  by  commerce ;  as,  on  the  other  hand,  instances 
are  sufficiently  common  of  mean  and  narrow  educations  given  to 
inferior  branches  of  great  families.  A  common  literary  educa- 
tion is  within  the  reach  of  persons  much  beneath  the  rank  of  gen- 
tility ;  and  as  its  success  chiefly  depends  upon  the  motives  to 
improve  it  to  the  best  advantage,  it  is  less  to  be  expected  from 
the  heirs  of  opulence,  than  from  those  who  are  sensible  that  their 
livelihood  must  depend  upon  their  own  exertions.  With  respect 
to  the  extraordinary  advantages  of  particular  tuition,  of  travel, 
and  the  like,  these  are  all  open  to  the  persons  who  can  pay  for 
them,  and  to  no  others.  The  manners  which  are  supposed  to  de- 
note a  familiarity  with  good  company,  have  two  sources;  the 
sense  of  self  consequence,  and  the  habits  of  artificial  politeness. 
The  first  will,  doubtless,  attend  persons  of  real  rank  and  impor- 
tance ;  but  it  is  derived  rather  from  station  and  fortune,  than 
from  what  is  properly  called  family.  It  is  often  surprisingly  soon 
caught  by  men  of  very  low  origin,  who  arrive  at  posts  of  dignity, 
or  high  commercial  prosperity  ;  while  it  may  be  totally  extinct 
in  the  needy  descendant  of  ten  noble  generations.  The  second 
is  an  accomplishment  which,  like  all  others,  must  be  studied  by 
those  who  wish  to  excel  in  it.  High  birth  is,  doubtless,  an  ad- 
vantage towards  its  acquisition  :  but  the  opportunities  it  affords 
are  often  neglected.  That  arbiter  elegantiarum,  Lord  Chester- 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  345 

field,  has  scarcely  allowed  any  of  the  first  men  of  his  time,  in 
point  of  rank  and  office,  to  have  had  the  manners  and  conversa- 
tion of  gentlemen.  (See  his  Characters.)  Indeed,  the  very  circum* 
stance  of  elevated  situation  may  operate  unfavourably  upon  the 
manners,  from  the  carelessness  it  is  likely  to  inspire  with  respect 
to  pleasing  in  society,  the  desire  of  which  is  the  only  true  source 
of  politeness.  The  lowest  appendages  of  quality  are  more  likely 
to  acquire  that  deportment  which  conciliates  regard  and  good 
will,  than  their  lords  and  patrons. 

If  a  just  interpretation  of  the  nature  and  origin  of  family  pride 
have  been  given*  in  the  preceding  remarks,  it  will  not  be  easy  to 
show,  why  it  should  tend  to  elevate  the  mind,  or  stimulate  to 
great  and  honourable  exertions.  We  may,  indeed,  image  to  our- 
selves a  parent  exhorting  his  child  in  the  warmest  strains  of  af- 
fectionate eloquence,  to  prove  himself  the  worthy  descendant  of 
a  long  race  of  heroes  or  patriots.  But  the  misfortune  is,  when 
we  quit  fancy  for  reality,  that  these  pure  races  are  no  where  to  be 
found;  and  it  is  not  without  great  selection,  that  a  noble  youtli 
can  safely  draw  his  examples  from  his  genealogical  table.  How 
many  names,  and,  perhaps,  the  most  distinguished  ones  too,  will 
occur  in  every  line,  which  instead  of  the  love  of  public  virtue, 
will  inspire  a  lawless  lust  of  power,  or  an  admiration  of  unprin- 
cipled daring;  instead  ot  the  heart-felt  esteem  of  private  worth 
and  integrity,  will  kindle  the  ambition  of  dazzling  by  splendid 
profligacy !  The  lesson  he  is  of  all  the  most  likely  to  learn  is, 
the  great  importance  of  riches ;  he  sees  how  much  they  conduced 
to  the  consequence  of  his  progenitors,  and  why  should  he  form  a 
different  estimate  of  his  own  ?  If,  therefore,  he  inherits  wealth, 
he  is  proud  of  that  wealth.  If  he  inherits  only  the  title  and 
memory  of  past  opulence,  he  is  mortified  by  the  contrast  between 
his  name  and  his  circumstances ;  and  feels  no  necessity  so  ur- 
gent, as  that  of  retrieving  the  honour,  that  is  the  fortune,  of  his 
family.  To  one  whose  prejudices  preclude  him  from  many  of 
the  most  useful  and  honest  ways  of  gaining  a  fortune,  such  an 
impression  must  often  be  the  cause  of  hurtful  and  dishonourable 
expedients.  And,  in  fact,  none  have  in  all  countries  been  so  sys- 
tematically hostile  to  the  liberties  and  rights  of  their  fellow  sub- 
jects, as  the  brood  of  indigent  nobility,  who  seem  to  think  them- 
selves unjustly  treated  by  the  community,  as  long  as  their  reve- 
nues are  inadequate  to  the  expectations  of  their  birth. 

To  revert  to  the  question  proposed  as  the  object  of  inquiry, — 


344  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

I  conceive  it  to  be  the  true  nature  of  family  pride,  to  institute  an 
estimate  of  personal  value,  essentially  founded  upon  superiority 
of  wealth,  and  recurring  to  such  a  superiority  for  its  support.  It 
cannot,  therefore,  be  relied  upon  as  a  solid  principle  for  the  ele- 
vation of  the  character.  It  may  occasionally  prompt  to  great 
and  noble  actions,  but  there  is  no  security  against  its  inspiring 
pernicious  and  disgraceful  ones.  It  is  inferior  in  worth,  not  only 
to  genuine  morality,  but  to  a  regard  for  the  common  good  opinion 
of  mankind,  which  implies  a  sense  of  community  of  sentiment 
and  interest;  whereas  family  pride  is  a  secluding  and  dissoci 
ating  principle. 


APOLOGY  FOR 

THE  DEMOLITION  OF  RUINS. 


*  I  KNOW  not  where  I  can  better  apply  than  to  your  liberal 
publication,  for  the  purpose  of  making  my  protest  against  what 
1  conceive  a  very  unjust  censure  passed  upon  my  character. 
Allow  me,  therefore,  without  further  preface,  to  state  my  case  to 
your  readers. 

Three  years  ago,  on  the  death  of  a  distant  relation,  I  came  un- 
expectedly into  possession  of  an  estate  situated  in  one  of  the 
most  pleasing  rural  situations  in  this  kingdom.  Having  always 
had  a  fondness  for  the  country,  which,  till  that  time,  professional 
engagements  would  not  suffer  me  to  indulge,  I  determined, 
without  hesitation,  to  fix  my  future  residence  in  the  spot  which 
fortune  had  bestowed  upon  me.  I  therefore  hastened  down,  with 
the  purpose  of  making  such  alterations  and  improvements  as 
fancy  or  convenience  might  suggest,  in  a  place  which  had  been 
more  indebted  to  nature  than  to  the  attention  of  its  late  posses- 
sors. In  going  the  round  of  my  domains,  I  observed  in  a  sweet 
retired  vale,  within  the  flexure  of  a  clear  brook,  a  mass  of  un- 
sightly ruins,  overgrown  with  weeds,  offering  to  the  eye  nothing 

*  This  fanny  piece  was  originally  sent  as  a  communication  to  a  periodical  work 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  345 

better  than  some  half-demolished  walls,  surrounding  heaps  of 
shapeless  rubbish.  The  soil  about  it  was  rich ;  and  the  spot  was 
well  defended  "  from  cold  septentrion  blasts"  by  a  rising  hillock 
to  the  north,  and  a  tall  plantation  to  the  east.  Among  my  little 
tastes,  one  of  the  strongest  is  a  delight  in  the  cultivation  of  rare 
and  beautiful  plants ;  and  as  at  the  instant  a  plan  of  fortifica- 
tions was  suggested  to  uncle  Toby,  his  bowling-green  presented 
itself  to  his  imagination,  so,  on  the  view  of  this  sequestered  place, 
I  cried  to  myself,  in  a  kind  of  rapture,  "  What  a  charming  situ- 
ation for  a  botanical  garden  !"  "  And  then,  (I  proceeded')  we 
shall  find  stones  enow  among  this  rubbish  for  an  inclosure  ;  and 
on  that  largest  heap,  which  overlooks  the  stream,  I  will  build  a 
little  summer-house,  and  convert  all  the  base  of  it  into  a  piece  of 
rock  work."  To  make  my  story  short,  so  much  did  this  scheme 
run  in  my  head,  that  I  did  not  rest  till  it  was  put  in  execution ; 
and  if,  Mr.  Editor,  you  are  a  lover  of  plants,  I  may  venture  to 
say  you  would  be  delighted  to  see  the  number  of  beautiful  vege- 
tables which  I  have  already  established  here,  and  would  enjoy 
the  verdant  scenery  round  the  windows  of  my  little  cabinet. 

But  now  comes  the  unpleasant  part  of  the  history.  Soon  after 
the  ruins  were  demolished,  and  the  edifices  erected  upon  them,  a 
Dr.  Moulder,  a  very  learned  man,  and  a  distinguished  fellow  of 
the  Antiquarian  Society,  who  happened  to  be  visiting  in  the 
neighbourhood,  called  one  morning  when  I  was  abroad,  and  de- 
sired my  gardener  to  show  him  about  my  grounds,  particularly 
requesting  to  see  the  remains  of  the  convent.  "  Convent !  sir, 
(says  the  fellow,)  we  have  no  such  thing  that  I  ever  heard  of; 
but,  perhaps,  your  worship  means  the  old  walls  that  my  master 
pulled  down  when  he  made  his  new  garden  by  the  brook." 
"Pulled  down  !"  cried  the  doctor;  "what  do  you  mean? — but 
show  me  to  the  place."  The  man  took  him  to  the  vale,  and  was 
going  to  open  the  garden  door,  when  a  flat  stone  in  the  wall,  on 
which  were  some  traces  of  letters,  caught  the  doctor's  eye  He 
stopped  short,  lifted  up  his  hands,  and  broke  forth  into  exclama- 
tions which  frightened  the  poor  fellow,  and  of  which  he  remem- 
bers only  the  words  "barbarous!  monstrous  !  sacrilege!"  He  then 
took  out  of  his  pocket  a  memorandum  book,  and  began,  with 
much  pains,  and  no  little  ill -humour,  to  transcribe  the  inscrip- 
tion, which  unfortunately  gave  him  additional  trouble  by  being 
fixed  in  the  wall  the  wrong  end  upwards.  He  ended  by  exactly 
measuring  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  stone  with  a  pocket  rule. 
Xx 


346  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

"  Well,  (says  he,  turning  to  the  man,)  I  see  you  have  done  your 
work  completely.  I  suppose  you  dug  up  the  old  building  from 
the  foundation  ?"  "  We  did,  sir,  (replied  he,)  and  a  power  of 
trouble  we  had  with  it.  They  say  it  was  a  famous  place  in  the 
time  of  the  Fapishcs.  But  if  your  worship  wants  to  see  anymore 
gravestones,  I  can  show  you  soii^e."  The  doctor  acquiescing  in 
this  proposal,  he  was  led  to  the  fragments  of  a  few  more  monu- 
mental stones  in  different  parts  of  the  wall,  the  rude  letters  of 
which,  where  they  were  at  all  legible,  he  faithfully  copied,  and 
then,  without  deigning  to  pay  the  least  attention  to  my  improve- 
ments, he  made  the  man  an  acknowledgment,  and  hastily  walked 
off*. 

The  circumstances  of  this  visit,  when  related,  only  diverted 
me,  till,  a  few  months  afterwards,  an  acquaintance  calling  upon 
me,  "Do  you  know,"  says  he,  with  a  serious  face,  "  what  an  at- 
tack has  been  made  upon  you  in  print  r"  I  was  startled;  upon 
which  he  took  out  a  periodical  publication,  renowned  for  its  gra- 
vity in  trifles,  and  showed  me  a  letter  concerning  the  lately  ex- 
isting remains  of  the  Monastery  of  Cistercians  in  the  parish  of 
,  which  I  presently  discovered  to  have  been  written  by  my 
testy  visitant.  In  this  letter,  the  owner  of  the  place  was  treated 
in  the  harshest  terms,  as  "  a  Vandal,  a  foe  to  reverend  antiquity, 
a  violator  of  the  dead,  and  a  person  void  of  all  taste  and  all  re- 
gard for  literature." — "The  precious  relics  which  time  and  the 
rough  hand  of  reformation  had  spared,  were  utterly  destroyed  by 
my  ruder  hands ;  and,  as  far  as  in  me  lay,  I  had  contributed  to 
the  overthrow  of  one  of  the  most  pleasing  and  useful  of  studies." 

To  these  charges,  Sir,  I  am  loth  to  plead  guilty ;  for  though  I 
have  not  ranked  in  that  class  of  men  whose  sole  business  in  life 
is  the  employment  of  literary  leisure,  yet  neither  by  education 
nor  habit  am  I  a  total  stranger  to  the  Muses ;  and  I  trust  I  have 
a  heart  not  inaccessible  to  the  pleasures  of  knowledge  nor  har- 
dened against  the  impressions  of  sentiment.  I  must,  indeed,  ac- 
knowledge that  I  have  not  learned  to  value  a  thing  merely  be- 
cause it  is  old  and  useless  :  nor  do  my  feelings  plead  with  me  in 
favour  of  relinquishing  to  the  bones  of  ancient  possessors  the 
perpetual  occupation  of  those  seats  which,  when  living,  they 
wisely  selected  on  account  of  their  beauty  or  convenience.  I 
see  not  why  I  should  not  enjoy  my  garden  as  well  as  the  monks 
did  theirs  in  the  same  spot;  and  I  think  it  a  much  less  crime  to 
disturb  the  repose  of  their  skeletons,  than  to  banish  Flora  and 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  347 

Pomona  from  a  favourite  residence.  The  rights  of  the  dead,  I 
confess,  affect  me  little  in  comparison  with  those  of  the  living ; 
and  I  reckon  it  high  time  for  the  particles  of  bodies  three  or  four 
centuries  defunct,  to  return  quietly  to  the  bosom  of  the  earth, 
and  fulfil  their  destiny.  As  to  the  share  of  posthumous  fame 
which  may  be  preserved  by  the  inscription  of  Gualter  de  Thorpe 
Prior  Imjus  Monast. — I  can  accuse  myself  of  a  very  small  degree 
of  injury  in  bringing  it  to  a  conclusion,  when  so  many  elaborate 
works  under  the  tile  of  Monasticons,  Repertories,  Topographical 
Remains,  County  Histories,  &c.  have  taken  such  laudable  pains 
to  secure  the  immortality  of  these  worthies  by  monuments  sere 
perenniora. 

The  motives  which  inspire  a  reverence  for  the  remains  of  an- 
tiquity, and  plead  against  their  demolition,  are  various ;  but  I 
think  the  rational  ones  may  be  reduced  to  very  few.  Where 
they  possess  intrinsic  beauty  or  grandeur,  and  afford  specimens 
of  the  taste  and  ingenuity  of  former  ages,  they  certainly  deserve 
preservation ;  as  likewise  where  they  illustrate  manners  and 
modes  of  living,  concerning  which  history  is  silent  or  obscure. 
Also,  when  they  are  associated  with  any  remarkable  event,  though 
not  essential  to  the  transmission  of  such  event,  I  should  be  as 
unwilling  as  any  to  break  an  association  which  may  excite  in 
sensible  hearts  feelings  of  the  most  interesting  kind.  But  why 
should  ruinous  piles  without  elegance  or  magnificence  be  left  to 
cumber  the  ground,  when  they  refer  only  to  inconsiderable  per- 
sonages and  ordinary  modes  of  life,  much  less  valuable  in  them- 
selves than  what  has  succeeded  them,  and  at  least  as  fully  re- 
corded as  they  deserve  to  be  in  the  pages  of  history  ?  Surely  the 
stones  of  our  wretched  old  mansions  called  castles,  and  of  our 
gloomy  monasteries,  are  not  all  so  sacred,  that  they  may  not  be 
applied  to  the  better  uses  that  modern  taste  and  good  sense  would 
find  for  them ! 


548  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

INQUIRY 

INTO  THE  ESSENTIAL  CHARACTER  OF  MAN. 


THERE  is  nothing  in  which  civilised  antiquity  appears  more 
laudable,  and  indeed  more  enviable,  than  in  the  philosophical  li- 
berty it  allowed  of  discussing  speculative  questions  relative  to 
some  of  the  most  important  topics,  without  affixing  either  a  pub- 
lic or  a  private  stigma  on  an  individual,  on  account  of  the  con- 
clusions he  might  deduce   from   his  reasonings.     Deriving  the 
character  of  a  man   from  the  manner  in  which  he  fulfilled  his 
duties  in  society,  and  taking  for  granted,  that,  if  he  acted  well, 
he  possessed  the  motives  proper  to  influence  him  to  that  course 
of  action,  it  regarded  with  great  indifference  the  metaphysical  or 
theological  system  he  had  chosen  to  adopt,  and  never  entertained 
an  idea  of  converting  tenets  of  opinion  into  tests  of  qualification 
for  the  offices  of  a  citizen.    Our  modern  dogmatists,  though  very 
far  from  agreeing  among  themselves  upon  many  fundamental 
points  of  doctrine,  have  yet  associated   their  several   modes  of 
thinking  so  exclusively  to  the  best  principles  of  action,  that  they 
have  refused  the  very  name  of  goodness  to  virtues  not  deduced 
from  their  theories  on  the  nature  and  relations  of  man.  We  have 
seen  even  so  mere  a  matter  of  speculation,  as  the  origin  of  evil, 
represented  as  the  great  hinge  of  morality;  and  a  belief  of  that 
system  which  refers  it  to  a  supposed  corruption  of  human  nature, 
made  the  discrimination  between  genuine  and  spurious  morals. 
That  evil  or  imperfection  exists  throughout  the  whole  sentient 
creation,  is  sufficiently  obvious,  but  it  would  seem  equally  so, 
that  our  business  can  only  be  the  correction  of  it;  and  that  the 
means  of  doing  this  must  be  general  to  all  human  creatures,  as 
far  as  they  make  use  of  reason  and  experience,  whatever  notions 
ancient  fable  or  history  may  have  given  them  concerning  its  ori- 
gin.  On  this  subject,  as  on  many  others,  the  rage  for  forming  hy- 
potheses seems  to  have  created  difficulties  and  perplexities  which 
do  not  necessarily  belong  to  it.     If  we  content  ourselves  "with 
reasoning  only  from  what  we  know,"  and  consider  the  character 
and  condition   of  man  merely  as  facts  in  natural  history,  I  con- 
ceive that  our  speculations  concerning  them  need  not  be  either 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  349 

intricate  or  unsatisfactory  ;  and  that  we  shall  be  able  to  free  our 
minds  from  a  mass  of  error  and  prejudice  tending  to  bewilder  our 
ideas  and  mislead  our  conduct. 

Man  is  the  terminating  link  of  the  animal  creation.  It  is 
equally  evident  that  he  participates  the  nature  of  this  class  of 
beings,  and  that  he  is  at  the  summit  of  the  scale.  His  points  of 
conformity  with  the  animals  beneath  him  are  striking  and  nume- 
rous. Like  them,  he  passes  through  the  stages  of  growth,  ma- 
turity, and  decline:  I'.ke  them,  he  perishes  as  an  individual,  but 
perpetuates  himself  as  a  species  :  like  them,  he  has  his  pains  and 
pleasures, diseases  and  remedies,  wants  and  the  means  of  supplying 
them.  The  first  law  of  nature  in  both,  is  that  of  seeking  happiness. 
In  both,  this  happiness  is  partly  personal,  partly  social.  In  both,  oc- 
casions arise  in  which  the  personal  and  social  coincide,  and  others 
in  which  they  interfere.  Now  comes  the  principal  moral  difference. 
In  brute  animals,  wherever  the  storge,  or  parental  and  conjugal 
affection,  does  not  take  place,  the  individual  uniformly  (a  few 
dubious  cases,  perhaps,  excepted)  prefers  his  own  gratification  to 
that  of  another,  or  of  any  number  of  others  :  in  man,  the  strength 
of  sympathy,  the  pleasures  of  sentiment,  the  habits  of  society, 
and  the  reciprocal  ties  and  dependencies  of  various  kinds,  have 
so  involved  the  interests  of  numerous  individuals,  that  happiness 
cannot  be  pursued  to  any  extent  but  as  a  matter  of  alliance  and 
conjunction.  Hence  cases  perpetually  occur  in  which  a  man  is 
induced  to  resign  his  immediate  and  single  gratifications  for  the 
sake  of  that  common  good  in  which  he  is  a  sharer.  This  is  a 
law  of  his  nature  ;  and,  considering  it  as  such,  it  is  not  of  the 
smallest  consequence  whether  a  theorist  finally  refers  it  to  a  be- 
nevolent or  a  selfish  principle.  Further,  he  is  enabled,  by  that 
idea  of  the  connection  of  cause  and  effect,  and  that  memory  of 
past  and  anticipation  of  future  events,  which  he  possesses,  if  not 
solely,  at  least  in  a  degree  greatly  superior  to  other  animals,  to 
resist  the  impulse  of  present  appetite  and  passion,  when  his  own 
greater  good,  or  that  of  persons  dear  to  him,  requires  it.  Here, 
then,  is  a  large  provision  made  in  his  nature  for  the  attainment 
of  all  the  personal  and  social  virtues.  He  will  be  prudent  and 
temperate  in  the  use  of  sensual  enjoyments,  both  that  he  may  not 
exhaust  the  source,  and  that  the  consequences  of  excess  may  not 
overbalance  the  pleasures.  He  will  be  kind  and  benevolent, 
compassionate  and  charitable,  because  he  is  so  constituted  as  to 
sympathise  in  the  happiness  and  misery  of  those  around  him  : 


350  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

because  he  is  a  social,  and  not  a  solitary  being.  He  will  eveu 
interest  himself  in  the  concerns  of  large  communities,  and  forego 
his  ease,  and  hazard  his  safety,  to  promote  their  advantage  ;  be- 
cause he  is  capable  of  personifying  the  ideas  of  country  and  man- 
kind, and  identifying  himself  with  the  human  race;  because  he 
is  sensible  of  the  exalted  pleasure  of  being  admired  and  beloved 
when  living,  and  can  associate  these  feelings  to  his  memory  after 
death.  If  to  this  fund  for  useful  and  generous  action  be  added 
the  capacity  of  receiving  pure  and  inexhaustible  delight  from  the 
exertion  of  intellect,  what  an  idea  must  be  formed  of  the  nature 
and  condition  of  man,  and  how  fitted  must  he  seem  to  occupy  the 
elevated  rank  assigned  him  in  this  visible  system  of  things  ! 

But  it  is  also  an  invariable  law  of  nature,  that  upon  every  ad- 
vantage should  be  entailed,  as  it  were,  an  appropriate  inconve- 
nience— upon  every  good  should  be  quartered  its  evil.  As  in  the 
tropical  climates  the  same  sun  that  nourishes  a  luxuriance  of  the 
richest  vegetation,  and  provides  abundance  for  all  the  wants  of 
man,  fills  the  air  and  earth  with  noxious  insects,  and  exhales  pes- 
tilence from  the  stagnant  waters  ;  so  the  noble  powers  bestowed 
upon  the  human  race,  and  the  multiplicity  of  strong  motives  per- 
petually rousing  these  powers  to  action,  render  its  individuals 
more  liable  to  err  in  the  pursuit  of  their  own  happiness,  and 
more  capable  of  inflicting  mischiefs  upon  each  other.  The  keen, 
relish  for  varied  gratification  stimulates  the  intemperance  of 
man,  and  administers  food  for  insatiable  cupidity.  His  love  of 
power,  of  honour,  of  fame,  involves  him  in  endless  rivalries  and 
interferences.  Even  those  attachments  which  take  him  in  some 
measure  out  of  self,  and  engage  him  in  the  interests  of  kindred, 
party,  and  country,  enlarge  the  sphere  of  his  contention,  and  pre- 
cipitate him  against  whole  masses  of  fellow  men,  with  whom,  in 
a  private  capacity,  he  could  not  come  into  contact.  Political  in- 
stitutions, and  forms  of  government,  which  in  one  view  are  ad- 
mirable contrivances  for  restraining  the  hurtful  passions  of  man- 
kind, in  another,  by  the  creation  of  a  multiplicity  of  new  rela- 
tions and  remote  interests,  are  causes  of  unthought-of  and  inter- 
minable quarrels.  Without  experience,  how  could  it  be  conceived 
that  a  hundred  thousand  human  beings  could,  by  any  force,  be 
set  in  array  against  another  hundred  thousand,  with  the  mutual 
purpose  of  destruction,  when  the  subject  of  the  dispute  perhaps 
concerned  not  a  single  person  on  either  side,  and  even  their  pas- 
sions took  so  little  part  in  their  hostility,  that  the  signing  of  a 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  351 

})iece  of  paper  might  immediately  convert  them  all  into  friends 
and  allies  ?  If  one  swarm  of  bees  engages  in  battle  with  ano- 
ther, it  is  for  the  possession  of  the  hive  and  honey  ;  and  thus  the 
warlike  tribes  of  men  which  issued  from  the  great  northern  hive, 
were  wont  to  contend  for  the  occupation  of  more  fertile  lands 
in  a  better  climate  than  their  own.  But  the  fruits  of  victory  now 
belong  only  to  the  few,  who,  sitting  quiet  at  home,  direct  this 
chess-play  for  their  amusement  or  emolument.  To  such  civilised 
gamesters,  however,  less  than  the  extermination  of  an  adversary 
will  suffice ;  and  a  few  bold  moves  may  decide  the  contest  with 
little  comparative  loss. 

A  circumstance  which  seems  most  remarkably  to  violate  the 
analogy  between  the  human  and  brutal  nature,  is  the  amazing; 
difference  of  perfection  attained  by  different  individuals  in  the 
former,  while  those  of  the  latter,  in  their  several  species,  appear 
to  be  nearly  upon  the  same  level.  Hence  it  has  been  inferred, 
that  a  very  small  part  of  mankind  are  what  their  creator  intend- 
ed they  should  be  ;  and,  consequently,  that  a  great  future  melio- 
ration in  the  mass  is  to  be  expected.  But  does  not  the  nature 
of  a  being,  capable,  indeed,  of  high  intellectual  attainments,  yet 
at  the  same  time  subjected  to  numerous  corporeal  wants  and  ne- 
cessities, which  are  not  to  be  supplied  without  care  and  toil,  ren- 
der such  a  difference  unavoidable;  and  is  it  not  manifestly  impos- 
sible that  the  highly  cultivated  part  should  ever  be  more  than  a 
small  minority  ?  The  leisure  that  they  enjoy,  and  all  the  ad- 
vantage of  books,  instruments,  and  other  things  necessary  to  the 
pursuit  of  literature,  are  at  the  expense  of  the  majority,  whose 
bodily  labours  are  by  so  much  the  more  augmented,  as  a 
higher  degree  of  cultivation  augments  the  demands  of  those 
who  can  compel  their  services.  Of  this  consequence  some  phi- 
losophers have  been  so  sensible,  that  they  have  condemned  not 
only  the  refinements  of  sensual  pleasure,  but  even  those  mental 
luxuries  which  require  a  large  apparatus  ;  and  they  have  looked 
for  the  perfection  of  human  nature  in  that  state  of  simplicity  and 
equality  which  attends  the  rude  beginnings  of  society.  Though 
I  by  no  means  agree  with  them  in  their  estimate  of  the  real  hap- 
piness of  man,  and  think  it  a  timid  and  narrow  policy  to  acqui- 
esce in  imperfection  through  fear  of  the  effects  of  a  full  exertion 
of  the  powers  bestowed  upon  us  ;  yet  the  general  fact,  that  one 
part  of  mankind  must  be  depressed  proportionally  to  the  exalta- 
tion of  the  other,  I  regard  as  indisputable.  It  is,  indeed,  a  per- 


352  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

fectly  laughable  ignorance  in  the  speculatist  who,  sitting  in  his 
study,  with  all  his  conveniences  about  him,  fancies  that  all  the 
world  might  devote  as  much  time  to  mental  exercise  as  he  does. 
Were  he  to  trace  the  history  of  his  fire  and  candle,  his  paper, 
pen,  and  ink,  he  would  perhaps  be  shocked  to  find  how  many 
pairs  of  hands  are  employed  to  favour  the  work  of  his  head. 

We  may  observe  in  nature  numerous  instances  in  which  a  pro- 
vision seems  to  be  made  for  proceeding  much  further  in  the  at- 
tainment of  certain  purposes  than  is  actually  done.  The  amaz- 
ing powers  of  generation  bestowed  upon  fishes,  insects,  and  the 
whole  vegetable  race,  are,  in  great  measure,  apparently  employed 
to  pure  loss, — to  the  production  of  an  abortive  progeny,  or  of  one 
which  it  is  impossible  to  bring  to  maturity.  But  for  this  seem- 
ing waste  of  effort  we  can  satisfactorily  account  from  the  neces- 
sity of  securing  a  point  so  essential  to  the  economy  of  nature,  as 
the  constant  renovation  of  what  is  subjected  to  constant  destruc- 
tion. Thus,  too,  in  the  self-preservation  of  the  individual,  we 
often  see  an  exertion  of  faculties,  either  of  acting  or  enduring, 
vastly  beyond  the  common  calls  of  life,  and  which  lie  latent  in 
the  greater  part  of  the  species  during  their  whole  existence. 
These  examples  should  perhaps  diminish  our  surprise,  that  the 
sublime  faculties  granted  to  man  so  rarely  find  opportunity  for 
full  expansion,  and  that  in  whole  nations,  for  many  ages,  no  in- 
dividual arrives  at  the  intellectual  excellence  of  which  he  is  cre- 
ated capable.  It  is  enough  that  they  are  inherent  in  his  nature, 
ready  to  be  produced  when  the  general  condition  of  the  society 
in  which  he  lives,  and  his  own  rank  in  that  society,  make  it  ex- 
pedient. If  a  difficulty  can  be  diminished  by  extending  it,  we 
may  allege  that  it  presses  as  much  upon  the  corporeal  as  the  men- 
tal nature  of  man.  For  how  few  of  the  species  are  there  who 
acquire  the  bodily  powers  of  athletes,  dancers,  or  posture-mas- 
ters ;  or  the  nobler  and  more  useful  talents  of  artists  of  every 
kind  ?  If  we  conceive  it  necessary  that  a  state  of  things  should 
arrive  in  which  all  men  should  be  mathematicians,  astronomers, 
and  metaphysicians,  it  seems  equally  so  that  they  should  be  all 
artificers,  painters,  and  musicians. 

But  the  moralist,  while  he  readily  gives  up  the  probability  of 
a  general  attainment  of  these  points  of  human  excellence,  will 
strongly  plead  the  necessity  of  supposing  a  future  improvement 
in  virtue;  for  the  true  definition  of  this  quality  being  such  a  dis- 
position of  mind  or  course  of  conduct  as  promotes  happiness,  it 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  353 

must,  in  all  places,  conditions,  and  states  of  society,  be  essential 
to  the  welfare  of  man.  And,  indeed,  no  prospect  can  be  so 
cheering  to  the  heart  of  the  philanthropist,  as  that  of  a  period  in 
which  mankind,  wisely  and  faithfully  employing  the  powers  with 
which  they  are  endued,  and  profiting  by  the  lessons  of  experi- 
ence, shall  steadily  pursue  their  own  and  the  general  good,  and 
cease  to  inflict  upon  themselves  and  others  those  evils  which  are 
the  most  numerous  and  exquisite  of  the  catalogue.  If,  however, 
we  consider  what  are  the  causes  of  these  moral  evils,  I  fear  we 
shall  find  little  reason  to  expect  their  abolition,  or  even  their 
considerable  diminution,  while  man  is  the  creature  w^  every 
where  find  him.  It  may  be  said  of  a  high  degree  of  moral,  as 
well  as  of  intellectual,  excellence,  that  it  is  the  result  of  those 
favourable  circumstances  in  which  a  comparatively  few  only  of 
the  species  can  be  placed.  The  early  discipline  of  a  good  edu- 
cation, a  happy  immunity  both  from  the  stimulus  of  urgent  wants, 
and  the  temptations  of  power  and  opulence,  leisure  for  the  cul- 
ture of  the  heart  and  understanding,  freedom  from  false  princi- 
ples and  bad  examples,  are  advantages  which  can  be  obtained 
only  under  the  shelter  as  it  were  of  social  institutions,  to  the 
support  of  which  numerous  moral  sacrifices  must  be  made  by  the 
mass  of  the  community.  They  who  are  maintained,  protected, 
and  governed,  without  any  efforts  of  their  own,  may  well  afford 
a  greater  attention  to  moral  duties  than  those  who  do  all  these 
offices  for  them.  But  it  is  not  from  such  a  select  and  favoured 
class  that  an  idea  is  to  be  formed  of  what  the  human  species  is 
capable  of  becoming. 

Let  us  now  imagine  an  inhabitant  of  another  world  making  a 
survey  of  this,  in  the  spirit  of  a  naturalist  and  a  philosopher.  He 
would  discern  a  beautiful  economy  of  things,  in  which  every  sin- 
gle species,  besides  providing  for  its  own  existence,  is  made  sub- 
servient to  the  necessities  of  another  species  ;  so  that  throughout 
ail  nature  nothing  exists  purely  for  itself,  but  the  interests  of 
one  are  blended  and  involved  with  those  of  another.  By  virtue 
of  this  economy,  however,  he  would  find  that  sacrifices  are  per- 
petually made  of  the  advantage  and  even  the  being  of  indivi- 
duals, and  that  life  is  maintained  at  the  expense  of  life,  and  en- 
joyment procured  at  the  expense  of  enjoyment,  throughout  the 
sentient  creation.  Moreover,  he  would  perceive,  that  the  opera- 
tions of  inanimate  powers,  such  as  the  elements  of  fire,  air,  and 
water,  the  principle  of  gravitation,  and  the  like,  though  so  bene- 


354  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

ficial  on  the  whole,  are  often  converted  into  causes  of  mischief 
and  destruction.  He  would  therefore  conclude,  that  the  general 
system  was  an  inseparable  mixture  of  good  and  evil ;  but  he 
would  (or  I  greatly  mistake^  discern  that  the  good  is  intentional 
and  preponderant,  the  evil  contingent  and  subordinate.  He 
would  receive  it  as  a  complete  proof  of  a  wise  and  well  arranged 
plan,  that,  notwithstanding  all  adverse  and  destructive  processes, 
every  species  of  being  maintains  itself  in  existence,  and  pre 
serves  the  rank  in  the  creation  it  was  destined  to  occupy. 

On  turning  his  view  upon  the  most  distinguished  and  interest- 
ing  figure  among  animated  forms — the  human  species— he  would 
see  moderate  powers  of  body,  inspired  by  an  unknown  some- 
thing, which  renders  them  capable  of  the  most  wonderful  exer- 
tions, and  every  where  establishes  a  complete  superiority  over 
the  other  animal  tribes.  He  would  observe  this  creature  agita- 
ted by  a  vast  variety  of  passions  and  desires,  precipitating  him 
into  actions,  some  injurious  to  his  own  happiness  and  that  of  his 
fellow  creatures,  others  promoting  the  felicity  of  both  ;  he  would 
see  hhn  building  with  one  hand,  and  overthrowing  with  another, 
cultivating  and  desolating,  adorning  and  defacing,  caressing  and 
murdering ;  but  upon  the  whole,  he  would  find  no  reason  to 
doubt  that  he  also  followed  the  general  law  of  creation,  and  that 
his  existence  was  a  blessing  to  him,  probably  the  greater  in  pro- 
portion to  the  superiority  of  his  faculties.  Comparing  different 
tribes  and  individuals  of  this  species,  he  would  be  sensible  of  a 
wide  scope  for  improvement,  general  and  particular,  and  would 
probably  expect,  from  the  ready  inter-communication  of  ideas, 
that  it  would  soon  take  place.  But  a  closer  view  of  the  mecha- 
nism of  human  societies,  and  the  natural  tendencies  of  things, 
especially  if  strengthened  by  a  knowledge  of  past  events,  would 
be  too  apt  to  lead  him  to  suspect  that  there  existed  insuperable 
obstacles  to  an  extensive  melioration.  Taking  the  human  race, 
however,  as  he  found  it,  he  could  scarcely  conceive  that  it  had 
undergone  any  corruption  or  deterioration,  which  rendered  it  a 
different  agent  in  the  great  system  of  nature  from  what  its  Au- 
thor intended  it  to  be.  Such  a  supposition  would  only  enhance 
to  him  any  difficulty  arising  from  the  inadequate  employment  of 
the  faculties  bestowed  upon  man ;  and  he  would  sooner  rest  sa- 
tisfied in  that  universal  analogy  which  shows  evil  every  where 
mixed  with  good,  defect  with  excellence. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  355 

THOUGHTS  ON  THE  FORMATION  OF  CHARACTER. 


IN  an  interesting  Memoir  of  the  late  Professor  Person,  no- 
thing appeared  to  me  more  curious  and  worthy  of  observation 
than  the  manner  in  which  his  father  habituated  him  from  infancy 
to  the  exercise  of  the  faculties  of  memory  and  attention,  by  ac- 
customing him  to  work  all  the  common  rules  of  arithmetic  as  far 
as  the  extraction  of  the  cube  root  by  the  head  alone.  It  is  justly 
remarked,  that  to  this  early  training  he  was  much  indebted  for 
the  extraordinary  powers  he  afterwards  displayed  in  storing  up 
knowledge,  and  applying  it  to  the  occasions  of  that  critical  in- 
vestigation in  which  he  so  greatly  excelled. 

There  is,  in  fact,  no  part  of  biography  so  important,  with  re- 
spect to  the  history  of  the  human  mind,  as  that  which  points  out 
the  external  circumstances  which  have  contributed  to  the  forma- 
tion of  moral  and  intellectual  character.  It  will,  indeed,  always 
be  matter  of  doubt  in  what  proportion  original  conformation,  and 
incidental  circumstances,  severally  operate  in  this  respect,  and 
some  reasoners  will  attribute  more  to  one  cause,  some  to  the 
other.  But  that  both  exert  a  powerful  influence  cannot  be  ques- 
tioned ;  and  as  external  causes  alone  are  within  our  direction,  it 
is  in  the  consideration  of  them  that  we  are  to  look  for  practical 
instruction. 

Two  characters  more  different  than  Richard  Person  and  Jean 
Jacques  Rousseau  can  scarcely  be  conceived,  and  it  is  proba- 
ble that  a  great  part  of  the  difference  was  original  and  con- 
stitutional ;  but  neither  could  any  two  things  be  more  different 
than  the  courses  of  mental  training  which  each  underwent  The 
parents  of  both  were  men  of  parts,  in  humble  life,  and  were  them- 
selves the  early  teachers  of  their  children.  But  Person's  father 
was  an  unlettered  villager,  who  probably  knew  nothing  of  man 
and  his  concerns  beyond  his  own  narrow  circle,  and  the  force  of 
whose  mind  had  been  employed  upon  speculations'  which  had 
nothing  of  feeling  or  fancy  attached  to  them.  Rousseau's  father, 
on  the  contrary,  was  the  citizen  of  a  little  republic,  full  of  poli- 
tical intrigue,  and  in  which  a  taste  for  general  literature  was 
more  widely  diffused  than,  perhaps,  in  any  other  spot  on  the 
globe.  The  manner  in  which  he  opened  his  son's  mind  was  to 
read  to  him  till  his  eighth  year  all  the  romances  he  could  procure, 


356  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

and  then  to  go  over  with  him  all  Plutarch's  Lives,  interspersing 
such  remarks  as  might  impress  him  with  patriotic  ardour  and 
high  notions  of  moral  excellence.  It  is  impossible  not  to  recog- 
nise in  the  subsequent  life  and  writings  of  this  singular  man  the 
permanent  effects  of  an  education  thus  expressly  calculated  to 
make  him  all  feeling  and  imagination.  If  we  now  conceive  the 
boys  to  have  been  contemporaries,  and  to  have  changed  fathers, 
we  shall  scarcely  be  able  to  set  any  bounds  to  our  ideas  of  the 
alteration  in  their  respective  characters.  No  one  will  suppose 
that  Person  would  have  become  Rousseau,  or  Rousseau,  Person  ; 
but  it  is  probable  that  the  eloquence  and  enthusiasm  of  the  one, 
and  the  critical  investigating  spirit  of  the  other,  would  have  been 
in  great  measure  suppressed,  and  the  native  genius  of  each  would 
have  burst  out  in  some  new  direction. 

I  confess  that  I  have  not  much  faith  in  the  decisive  and  inde- 
lible effects  of  single  and  perhaps  unobserved  incidents,  to  which 
those  who  adopt  the  theory  of  association  are  apt  to  ascribe  so 
much  in  the  formation  of  temper  and  disposition.  I  rather  im- 
pute such  effects  to  the  gradual  operation  of  a  continued  agency, 
which  has  time  to  induce  an  habitual  mode  of  thinking  or  feel- 
ing, and  to  convey  into  the  very  substance  of  the  mind  what  is 
analogous  to  the  nutritious  part  of  food  received  into  the  body. 
Instances  are  numerous  in  the  records  of  biography,  in  which  ac- 
cidental circumstances,  operating  in  this  manner  during  the  sus- 
ceptible period  of  early  youth,  have  laid  the  foundation  of  those 
irresistible  propensities  to  particular  pursuits  which  have  almost 
always  preceded  the  attainment  of  distinguished  excellence  in 
them.  I  shall  mention  a  few  of  these  as  they  occur  to  my  me- 
mory. 

The  puerile  fancy  of  Cowley  was  nourished  by  Spenser's 
Faery  Queen,  which  lay  in  his  mother's  parlour  window,  and 
which  he  had  entirely  devoured  before  he  was  twelve  years  old. 
Its  product  was  a  little  volume  of  "  Poetical  Blossoms,"  publish- 
ed at  the  age  of  fifteen  or  sixteen. 

Pope's  early  fondness  for  reading  led  him  to  the  perusal  of 
Ogilby's  Homer  and  Sandy's  Ovid.  He  was  afterwards,  while 
yet  a  boy,  an  occasional  visitor  of  the  theatre,  and  the  fermenta- 
tion of  verse  and  heroism  in  his  mind  brought  forth  an  Homeric 
drama,  which  he  procured  to  be  acted  by  his  school -fellows. 
He  did  not,  it  is  true,  afterwards  write  tragedies,  but  he  trans- 
lated Homer. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  357 

The  father  of  Goldoni,  who  was  a  physician,  having  indulged 
his  son  when  a  child  with  the  erection  of  a  little  theatre  at  his 
house,  in  which  the  boy  and  his  companions  acted  plays,  after- 
wards in  vain  attempted  to  bring  him  up  to  his  own  profession, 
and  to  that  of  the  law ;  and  he  became  the  most  copious  writer 
of  comedy  in  his  age. 

Richardson,  who  seems  'from  childhood  to  have  been  a  formal 
narrative  little  man,  was  early  practised  in  gossip  and  letter  wri- 
ting by  the  circumstance  of  being  chosen  by  three  damsels  as  the 
confident  of  their  love  affairs  and  the  inditer  of  their  epistles. 
Who  does  not  see  that  this  secretaryship  was  the  immediate 
parent  of  Pamela,  and  the  remote  progenitor  of  Clarissa  and 
Grandison  ? 

Gessner.,the  pastoral  poet  and  landscape  painter,  we  are  told, 
was  extremely  backward  in  acquiring  the  rudiments  of  learning, 
till  a  sagacious  tutor  took  him  out  into  the  fields,  and  gave  him 
lessons  in  the  midst  of  the  striking  objects  afforded  by  nature  in 
Switzerland.  These  so  happily  impressed  him,  that  he  for  ever 
associated  literature  with  an  ardent  passion  for  rural  scenery 
and  manners,  and  charmed  his  countrymen  with  his  creations  of 
the  pen  and  pencil  in  this  walk. 

Sir  William  Jones  had  the  happiness  to  receive  his  first  edu- 
cation under  a  mother  who  was  well  qualified  to  cultivate  his 
promising  talents.  When  he  asked  her  questions  about  any  mat- 
ter of  information  she  would  answer,  "Read,  and  you  will  know;" 
and  by  thus  habitually  connecting  reading  with  the  gratification 
of  his  curiosity,  she  inspired  him  with  that  insatiable  ardour  for 
study  which  ever  distinguished  him. 

Linnaeus  was  the  son  of  a  poor  Swedish  clergyman,  one  of 
whose  simple  tastes  it  was  to  cultivate  in  his  little  garden  all 
the  kinds  of  pjants  which  he  was  able  to  procure.  This  garden 
was  the  occupation  and  delight  of  his  son  from  childhood,  and  a 
passion  for  botany  "  grew  with  his  growth,  and  strengthened  with 
his  strength." 

In  all  these  instances,  to  which  many  additions  might  easily 
be  made,  it  will  be  found  that  not  a  transient  impression,  but  a 
course  of  repeated  action  or  sensation,  was  the  instrument  by 
which  that  lasting  taste  or  disposition  was  formed  which  charac- 
terised the  man.  It  may  be  useful  to  pursue  somewhat  further 
this  train  of  speculation. 

In  each  of  the  two  great  branches  of  human  character,  the 


358  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

moral  and  the  intellectual,  may  be  discerned  the  influence  both 
of  original  conformation,  and  of  secondary  or  adventitious  cir- 
cumstances ;  and  it  is  upon  just  and  precise  views  of  the  respec- 
tive operation  of  these  two  sets  of  causes,  that  all  conclusions* 
practical  and  speculative,  concerning  character  are  to  be  found- 
ed. The  records  of  biography  present  numerous  facts  whereon 
to  build  such  conclusions ;  and  facts  alone  can  be  relied  upon  in 
an  inquiry  which,  in  reality,  is  a  department  of  natural  history. 

To  begin  with  moral  character — The  position  that  temper  or 
disposition  is  a  radical  quality  of  mind,  never  entirely  to  be 
changed,  but  only  modified  in  its  agency  by  superinduced  habits, 
or  by  principles  of  conduct,  which,  while  they  serve  to  give  it  a 
direction  as  far  as  their  influence  extends,  leave  it  the  supreme 
arbiter  of  life  and  manners  in  other  points — will  probably  receive 
illustration  and  proof  from  the  following  examples. 

Cato  the  Younger  was  characterised  almost  from  infancy  by 
a  firm  unyielding  temper,  joined  with  a  slow  but  solid  under- 
standing, which  rendered  indelible,  impressions  once  form- 
ed, and  made  him  immutable  in  his  purposes.  This  disposition, 
in  and  untutored  an  ill-governed  mind,  might  have  been  mere  vi- 
cious stubbornness  and  obstinacy ;  but  the  maxims  of  Roman 
patriotism  and  Grecian  philosophy  elevated  it  to  a  moral  heroism 
of  which  history  affords  few  parallels.  It  is  related,  that  Pope- 
dius  Silo,  one  of  the  deputies  sent  to  the  Italian  states  to  de- 
mand their  participation  in  the  rights  of  Roman  citizenship,  hav- 
ing been  entertained  as  a  guest  in  the  house  of  Livius  Drusus, 
uncle  and  guardian  to  Cato  and  his  brother  Csepio,  once  in  a 
playful  manner,  requested  the  two  boys  to  intercede  with  their 
relation  in  his  behalf.  Csepio  readily  promised  compliance  ;  but 
Cato,  who  had  doubtless  been  nourished  in  all  the  lofty  senti- 
ments of  a  Roman,  looked  in  silence  at  Popedius  with  an  expres- 
sion of  displeasure. — Unable  by  soft  words  to  overcome  his  sur- 
liness, Popedius  carried  him  to  the  window,  and  threatening  to 
throw  him  out,  held  him  as  if  ready  to  let  him  drop;  but  the  boy 
bore  it  without  the  least  indication  of  fear,  or  a  single  concilia- 
tory expression.  Popedius  had  sagacity  enough  to  discern  in 
this  scene  the  future  bulwark  of  his  country's  rights.  At  the  age 
of  fourteen,  being  taken  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  dictator  Sylla, 
with  whom  his  family  was  connected,  and  seeing  a  number  of 
heads  of  noble  victims  carried  out  from  an  inner  apartment,  he 
asked  of  his  Greek  preceptor,  Why  such  a  man  was  suffered  to 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  359 

live?  "Because,  (he  replied)  Syllais  still  more  feared  than  hat- 
ed." "  Give  me,  then,  a  sword,  (said  young  Cato,)  that  I  may  free 
my  country  from  tyranny ;"  and  this  he  uttered  with  so  stern 
and  determined  an  air,  that  his  tutor  was  obliged  to  watch  him 
closely,  lest  he  should  put  his  purpose  in  execution.  Here  were 
manifestly  the  dawnings  of  that  great  character  which  matured 
and  principled  by  the  stoic  philosophy,  produced  the  invincible 
assertor  of  Roman  liberty,  and  the  most  upright  of  patriots.  In 
the  earlier  ages  of  the  republic  it  might  also  have  been  marked 
with  unfeeling  severity;  but  letters  had  softened  Cato  into  hu- 
manity, and  no  man  displayed  more  substantial  kindness  upon 
adequate  occasions.  His  unsubmitting  spirit,  indeed,  sometimes 
led  him  into  useless  and  imprudent  opposition  ;  and  his  strict 
adherence  to  the  rule  of  right  embarrassed  his  friends  as  much  as 
his  enemies ;  but  it  was  not  his  fault  that  the  times  were  unfit 
for  him. 

John  Lilburne,  the  English  republican,  was  not  inferior  to  Cato 
in  firmness  of  resolution  and  unyielding  intrepidity.  Perhaps 
there  was  more  of  the  restless  and  contentious  mixed  in  his  dis- 
position ;  yet  the  differences  between  the  two  characters  may  be 
chiefly  ascribed  to  the  difference  of  their  education  and  situation 
in  life.  John  was  an  apprentice  in  London  when  he  first  exhi- 
bited his  impatience  of  tyranny  by  a  complaint  before  the  cham- 
berlain against  his  master  for  ill  usage.  He  then  began  to  study 
the  divinity  of  the  time,  which  was  all  turned  to  controversial  dis- 
putation, and  he  became  a  zealous  puritan,  with  all  the  austerity 
of  the  sect.  The  Book  of  Martyrs  inspired  him  with  an  enthu- 
siastic fervour  for  acting  and  suffering  in  what  he  deemed  the 
righteous  cause.  He  was  soon  called  upon  to  suffer,  and  no  one 
could  go  through  his  trials  with  a  more  unsubdued  spirit.  His 
stedfast  appeals  to  the  laws  of  his  country  and  the  privileges  of 
Englishmen,  procured  him  great  popularity  with  the  inferior 
classes,  and  the  title  of  Freeborn  John.  Lilburne  passed  a  life  of 
content  against  power  in  every  hand  in  which  it  was  placed,  of 
dispute  with  all  his  superiors  in  command,  and  of  virulent  con- 
troversy on  civil  and  religious  topics.  He  was  a  brave  soldier, 
but  never  found  an  authority  under  which  he  could  continue  to 
act.  He  appears  to  have  been  fond  of  contention  for  its  own 
sake;  yet  without  doubt  there  was  much  of  principle  in  his  con- 
stant opposition  to  injustice  and  oppression,  and  the  event  often 
proved  him  to  be  in  the  right.  That  a  kind  of  ridicule  is  attached 


360  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

to  his  memory,  is  perhaps  chiefly  owing  to  the  contemptible  na- 
ture of  many  of  the  disputes  in  which  he  was  engaged,  and  the 
vulgarity  of  his  style  and  manners. 

The  philanthropist  John  Howard  (no  man  ever  better  deserved 
that  title)  was  equal  to  either  of  the  former  in  firmness  of  mind, 
but  it  was  unattended  with  the  litigious  propensity  of  the  last, 
and  was  accompanied  with  a  singular  restlessness  that  perpetu- 
ally urged  him  to  some  active  pursuit.  With  only  an  ordinary 
share  of  moral  principle,  this  might  have  rendered  him  merely  a 
busy  man,  occupied  in  gratifying  a  mutable  curiosity  with  per- 
severing industry ;  but  Christianity  was  to  him  what  stoicism 
was  to  Cato,  "  JVon  sibi  sed  toti  gentium  se  credere  mundo" — a 
system  of  practical  benevolence,  impelling  him  to  sacrifice  his 
repose  and  hazard  his  life  in  promoting  the  welfare  of  his  fellow 
creatures.  His  determined  spirit,  and  his  love  of  action,  were 
modified  and  directed  by  this  great  principle.  It  rendered  him 
in  his  peregrinations  as  superior  to  the  calls  of  appetite,  as  Cato 
was  in  the  deserts  of  Africa ;  and  enabled  him  to  face  the  dan- 
gers of  disease  with  as  much  courage  as  a  soldier  could  display 
on  the  day  of  battle.  It  overcame  even  curiosity  and  the  love 
of  knowledge,  and  fixed  his  attention  to  the  one  great  business 
of  benevolence  which  he  had  undertaken. 

He  keeps  his  object  ever  full  in  sight, 

And  that  assurance  holds  him  firm  and  right. 

DllYDEST. 

In  the  preceding  instances,  native  resolution  was  actuated  by 
motives  which  outweighed  the  selfish  principle,  and  inspired  a 
course  of  conduct  of  which  public  good  was  the  object.  In  the 
class  of  men  who  have  popularly  obtained  the  denomination  of 
great,  we  shall  always  meet  with  the  fundamental  quality  above 
mentioned,  but  too  frequently  under  a  very  different  direction. 
An  example  or  two  of  this  kind  may  usefully  be  adduced  by  way 
of  comparison. 

Julius  Ceesar,  brought  up  as  a  young  man  of  rank  in  a  most 
dissolute  metropolis,  was,  for  a  time,  whirled  in  the  vortex  of 
pleasure,  and  confined  his  exertions  to  exploits  of  gallantry  and 
the  attainments  of  splendid  accomplishments.  Yet  the  firmness 
with  which  he  resisted  the  terrible  Sylla,  who  imperiously  urged 
him  to  divorce  his  wife,  the  daughter  of  Cinna;  and  the  com- 
manding intrepidity  he  displayed  when  a  captive  among  pirates; 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  361 

gave  manifest  tokens  of  a  character  born  for  distinction  in  any 
walk  of  life  which  he  should  finally  pursue.  The  prospects  of  am- 
bition at  length  opened  on  his  mind  ;  and  meeting  with  no  prin- 
ciple to  circumscribe  them  within  the  limits  of  legitimate  power, 
he  entered  upon  that  career,  which  led  him  by  undeviating  steps 
to  the  subversion  of  the  liberties  of  his  country.  The  union  of 
indefatigable  activity  and  prompt  decision  with  daring  enter- 
prise, gave  him  a  superiority  over  all  his  competitors,  and  ensur- 
ed success  to  his  plans.  There  appears  to  have  been  in  his  com- 
position either  a  native  mildness,  or  an  acquired  spirit  of  mode- 
ration, which  rendered  him  one  of  the  most  clement  of  conquerors 
in  a  civil  war;  but  the  baneful  effects  of  uncontrolled  power  on 
the  temper  were  beginning  to  show  themselves  before  he  was 
made  a  sacrifice  to  patriotic  vengeance. 

Intrepidity  and  resolution  have  seldom  been  more  conspicuous 
than  in  the  character  of  Cromwell.  This  extraordinary  person 
seems  in  his  youth  to  have  been  noted  for  a  turbulent  ungovern- 
able disposition,  which  threw  him  into  a  licentious  course  of  life. 
From  this  he  was  reclaimed  by  an  early  marriage  and  admission 
into  respectable  society  ;  and  he  soon  began  to  attach  himself  to 
that  party  in  which  an  appearance,  at  least,  of  sanctity  was  re- 
quisite to  gain  reputation.  Nor  can  it  be  doubted  that  his  mind, 
naturally  prone  to  enthusiasm,  imbibed  a  portion  of  real  religious 
fervour.  But  his  projects  for  advancement  rendered  it  necessary 
for  him  to  affect  more  than  he  felt ;  and  in  a  mixture  which,  re- 
markable as  it  may  seem,  is  not  uncommon,  he  combined  hypoc- 
risy and  cunning  with  fanaticism.  Had  not,  however,  the  civil 
contests  of  the  time  terminated  in  an  appeal  to  the  sword,  he 
might  have  remained  only  distinguished  in  the  groupe  as  a  busy 
oppositionist,  and  a  long-winded  canter,  greatly  inferior  in  ta- 
lents and  accomplishments  to  the  parliamentary  leaders.  But 
the  vigour  and  abilities  that  he  displayed  in  the  field  gained  him 
the  confidence  of  his  party;  and  being  shackled  by  no  principle, 
he  made  use  of  his  acquired  credit  to  supplant  his  competitors, 
and  raise  himself  to  sovereign  power.  Had  this  man  been  originally 
bred  to  arms  under  a  settled  government,  it  is  highly  probable 
that  he  would  have  attained  an  elevated  rank,  in  which  his  tur- 
bulent spirit  might  possibly  have  incited  him  to  embroil  affairs 
for  the  purpose  of  further  advancement ;  but  the  habitual  dis- 
simulation and  hypocrisy  which  the  peculiar  circumstances  of 

Z/, 


362  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

the  time  rendered  necessary  to  his  actual  progress,  might  never 
have  formed  an  essential  part  of  his  character. 

Inflexibility  was  the  base  of  the  extraordinary  character  of 
Charles  XII.  of  Sweden.  In  his  youth  he  was  stubborn  and  in- 
docile ;  and  having  the  disadvantage  of  being  born  heir  to  a  mon- 
archy, he  might  have  been  totally  uneducated,  had  not  means 
been  found  of  working  upon  that  spirit  of  emulation  which  was 
one  of  his  active  principles.  He  was  induced  to  learn  Latin  by 
being  told  that  the  kings  of  Denmark  and  Poland  were  profi- 
cients in  that  language.  He  read  Quintus  Curtius,  and  from. 
that  time  the  ardour  for  martial  glory  seems  to  have  taken  pos- 
session of  his  breast.  Alexander  became  his  hero  and  the  model 
for  his  imitation;  but  without  the  splendid  qualities  of  that  con- 
queror, he  possessed  what  he  wanted — resolution  to  resist  the 
allurements  of  pleasure.  When  calle:!  forth  to  action  by  the 
unjust  aggression  of  his  neighbours,  he  for  ever  renounced  the 
society  of  the  fair  sex  and  the  use  of  wine,  and  steeled  himself 
to  all  the  toils  and  hardships  of  a  military  life.  His  temper,  na- 
turally insensible,  was  rendered  more  unfeeling  by  the  principles 
of  arbitrary  power,  which  caused  the  liveat  and  fortunes  of  his 
subjects  to  appear  as  nothing  in  his  sight,  whilst  pursuing  his  ro- 
mantic schemes  of  conquest.  In  all  his  subsequent  adventures, 
his  successes  and  failures,  the  same  inflexibility,  or  obstinacy  as 
it  might  justly  be  termed,  characterised  him.  He  appeared  a  hero 
at  Narva,  and  a  madman  at  Bender ;  but  he  was  radically  the 
same  in  both — inaccessible  to  fear,  to  pity,  to  all  the  common 
feelings  of  human  nature.  He  would  excellently  have  filled  the 
part  of  Talus  the  Iron  Man  in  Spenser ;  but  to  the  lasting  injury 
of  his  country,  and  the  disturbance  of  Europe,  fortune  had  made 
him  the  directing  head  as  well  as  the  executing  arm.  He  was 
as  ready  to  fight  for  a  punctilio  as  for  a  kingdom,  and  nothing 
but  a  bullet  could  stop  his  career. 

Virgil,  in  his  third  Georgic,  describing  the  tokens  by  which  a 
generous  nature  may  be  discerned  in  the  young  steed,  mentions 
the  impulse  to  take  the  lead  of  his  fellows,  and  to  be  the  first  in 
every  daring  adventure : 

Primus  et  ire  viara,  et  fluvios  ten  tare  minaces 
Audet,  t-t  ignoto  st-se  comntittere  ponti. 

The  same  spirit  is  said  to  show  itself  in  young  hounds  of  an  ex 
cellent  breed,  and  in  various  other  animals  of  superior  races. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  363 

The  human  species  is  not  devoid  of  individuals  born  with 
similar  indications  of  nobleness  of  nature — with  a  strong  aspira- 
tion after  excellence,  and  readiness  to  undergo  any  toils  and 
hardships  in  pursuit  of  it.  Happy  is  the  parent  or  instructor 
to  whose  share  one  of  these  choice  productions  has  fallen ;  for 
with  this  temper  of  mind  theie  is  no  point  of  attainment  within 
the  reach  of  the  pupil's  faculties  that  may  not  be  expected.  It 
is,  however,  a  disposition  that  requires  peculiar  delicacy  and  at- 
tention in  the  management :  for  when  suffered  to  run  untrained, 
or  misdirected  in  its  objects,  it  may  easily  be  the  source  of  more 
mischief  than  benefit,  both  to  its  owner  and  to  society.  Its  al- 
most inseparable  companion  is  an  ardent  thirst  of  praise  and  ad- 
miration ;  and  these  are  so  often  bestowed  by  the  world  without 
judgment  or  consideration,  that  unless  a  true  estimate  of  things 
be  first  established  in  the  youth's  own  mind,  this  emotion,  so 
useful  as  a  stimulative,  may  be  exercised  upon  the  most  frivo- 
lous or  improper  objects.  Another  frequent  attendant  upon  this 
disposition  is  the  ambition  of  grasping  at  a  great  number  of  at- 
tainments at  the  same  time,  in  order  to  dazzle  beholders  by  un« 
expected  combinations  of  excellence  ;  through  the  indulgence  of 
which  desire,  real  excellence  in  any  is  often  precluded,  and  fine 
abilities  are  seen  to  blossom  without  bringing  any  frnit  to  matu- 
rity. For  these  reasons,  there  is  no  class  of  minds  in  which  so 
much  may  be  usefully  done  by  discipline  and  instruction  towards 
the  formation  of  character,  as  that  which  is  our  present  subject 
—a  fact  which  will  be  rendered  apparent  by  those  biographical 
examples  both  of  excellence  and  defect  which  will  occupy  the 
remaining  part  of  this  paper. 

The  most  splendid  instance  of  the  passion  for  excelling,  pre- 
sented by  history,  is  that  of  Alexander  the  Great.  This  prince, 
to  whom  fortune  gave  the  means  ready  prepared  of  rising  to  the 
summit  of  martial  fame,  would  probably  have  distinguished  him- 
self in  any  condition.  The  tamer  of  Bucephalus  and  the  pupil 
of  Aristotle  could  scarcely  have  been  a  common  man.  It  is  in 
some  respects  unfortunate  for  mankind  that  there  should  be  a 
class  of  human  beings,  so  much  elevated  above  the  rest  ot  the 
species,  that  they  can  scarcely  find  any  object  on  which  to  exer- 
cise the  desire  of  pre-eminence,  at  the  same  time  innocent,  and 
sufficiently  dignified.  Thus  Alexander  refused  to  enter  his  name 
at  the  Olympic  games  unless  he  could  have  kings  for  competi- 
tors ;  and  the  great  game  of  contending  for  the  empire  of  the 


364  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

world  was  the  only  one  that  could  satisfy  his  noble  emulation. 
Even  in  this  he  seems  rather  to  have  been  moved  by  the  passion 
of  accomplishing  difficult  and  extraordinary  tasks,  lhan  by  the 
vulgar  desire  of  aggrandisement ;  and  the  conqueror  in  him  was 
subordinate  to  the  hero.  In  the  pursuit  of  this  object  he  shewed 
himself,  at  least  in  the  early  part  of  his  career,  superior  to  the 
allurenients  of  ease  and  luxury,  and  capable  of  confronting  every 
kind  of  toil  and  danger  ;  and  thus  has  established  a  claim  to  that 
genuine  ardour  for  excelling,  which  cannot  be  gratified  without 
the  consciousness  of  personal  merits.  Sovereigns  have  such 
easy  methods  of  indulging  the  wish  for  distinction,  that  no  force 
of  mind  is  required  for  the  attempt.  An  Egyptian  king  had  only 
to  employ  all  his  subjects  in  the  idle  work  of  erecting  a  loftier 
pyramid  than  any  of  his  predecessors  had  done,  to  render  his 
name  eternally  illustrious  among  a  people  of  slaves.  In  more 
enlightened  countries,  the  building  of  sumptuous  palaces,  and 
the  formation  of  grand  establishments  for  the  arts  and  sciences, 
though  costing  nothing  to  the  monarch  but  an  exertion  of  his 
will,  shall  perpetuate  his  memory  with  the  most  magnificent 
eulogies.  Thus  Louis  XIV.  by  nature  cold  and  inactive,  by  edu- 
cation uninformed  and  illiterate,  having  in  the  pride  of  self-con- 
sequence said  to  himself — In  whatever  point  other  kings  tiave 
been  great,  I  will  be  so  too — employed  the  stock  of  wealth,  power, 
and  talent  which  he  inherited  with  his  crown,  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  to  become  the  most  conspicuous  name  in  Europe  during 
half  a  century,  though  without  a  quality  which  could  have  dis- 
tinguished him  from  the  mass,  if  born  in  a  humble  condition. 

To  return  from  the  spurious  to  the  genuine  exemplifications 
of  the  class  in  question. — One  of  the  most  memorable  examples 
afforded  by  history  of  the  passion  for  excelling,  joined  with  ta- 
lents and  industry,  and  many  advantages  of  nature  and  fortune, 
is  that  of  Alcibiades.  This  celebrated  Athenian  displayed  from 
childhood  the  resolution  which  is  essential  to  greatness  of  cha- 
racter, as  we  learn  from  the  following  remarkable  incident:  Be- 
ing at  play  with  other  boys  in  the  street,  a  loaded  wagon  came 
up  just  as  the  game  required  him  to  run  across  :  he  called  to  the 
driver  to  stop,  and  finding  that  he  paid  no  regard  to  his  man- 
date, he  threw  himself  upon  the  ground  before  the  wheel,  and 
bade  the  man  drive  on  if  he  chose.  Many  were  the  frolics  of  his 
youth,  in  all  of  which  he  exhibited  a  daring  and  imperious  tern- 
per,  and  a  resolution  to  distinguish  himself  in  every  thing  he 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  365 

undertook.  He  was  an  attentive  and  favourite  pupil  of  Socrates, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  most  noted  debauchee  in  Athens.  He 
was  an  eloquent  speaker,  a  valiant  commander,  and  a  deep  poli- 
tician, whilst  he  was  the  first  racer  at  the  Olympic  games,  and 
dazzled  all  Greece  by  his  profuse  magnificence.  He  was  every- 
thing in  extremes,  and  nothing  moderately.  In  Sparta  he  was 
admired  as  a  pattern  of  abstemiousness  and  hardiness,  and  in 
Persia  he  surpassed  a  satrap  in  luxury.  Every  where  he  was  an 
object  of  wonder,  but  no  where  long  of  esteem ;  and  for  want  of 
fixed  principles  and  steadiness  of  conduct  he  passed  his  life  in 
perpetual  change,  and  at  length  perished  miserably  ;  a  signal  ex- 
ample of  the  abuse  of  great  talents,  with  powers  of  mind  ca- 
pable of  bringing  them  into  full  exertion,  but  mis-directed  in  their 
application. 

Various  parallels  might  be  found  to  the  character  of  Alcibia- 
des,  the  splendour  of  which  seems  to  have  made  it  an  object  of 
emulation  to  men  of  parts  and  of  loose  principles.  As  far  as 
the  passion  for  exciting  admiration  by  extraordinary  actions  and 
accomplishments  was  its  prominent  feature,  that  of  the  Duke  of 
Wharton  nearly  resembled  it.  Of  this  nobleman,  Pope,  in  his 
finely  drawn  portrait  (Moral  Ess.  Ep.  1.)  says,  that  the  "ruling 
passion  was  the  lust  of  praise :"  and  that 

Born  with  whate'er  could  win  it  from  the  wise, 
Women  and  fools  *  must  like  him,  or  he  dies; 
Tho'  wond'ring  senates  hung  on  all  he  spoke, 
The  club  must  hail  him  master  of  the  joke,  &c. 

In  Wharton  this  propensity  seems  to  have  been  of  a  lower  quali- 
ty than  in  Alcibiades,  and  attended  with  inferior  powers  of  ex- 
ertion. Accordingly,  the  Athenian  never  sunk  into  the  contempt 
which  attended  the  Englishman,  but  in  the  lowest  ebb  of  his  for- 
tune retained  consequence  enough  to  make  him  feared.  Wharton 
ended  "flagitious  but  not  great." 

When  the  love  of  praise  preponderates  the  desire  of  excelling, 
or  when  the  latter  is  occupied  with  unworthy  objects,  the  cha- 
racter is  chiefly  marked  by  childish  vanity  and  incongruity. 
Even  the  detestable  Nero  displayed  a  great  passion  for  being 
admired  in  the  arts  of  poetry,  music,  and  acting ;  and  not  en- 


*  A  most  injurious  combination,  characteristic   of  the  splenetic  misogynist  who 
made  it ' 


366  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

tirely  satisfied  with  the  hired  or  compelled  acclamations  of  his 
servile  audiences,  he  actually  took  great  pains,  and  underwent 
many  privations,  to  qualify  himself  for  appearing  before  the  re- 
fined connoisseurs  of  Greece.  He  was  much  more  affected  by 
being  called,  in  the  manifesto  of  one  who  had  taken  up  arms 
against  him,  "a  sorry  musician,"  than  by  all  the  reproaches  for 
his  cruelty  and  mis-government;  and  amidst  the  terrors  of  his 
approaching  fate,  frequently  repeated,  "  What  an  artist  I  perish!" 

The  emperor  Julian  was  a  singularly  compounded  character, 
the  basis  of  which  was  a  passion  for  becoming  conspicuous  ;  and 
though  in  some  points  it  displayed  itself  in  puerile  vanity,  in 
others  it  inspired  exertions  worth)'  of  his  high  station.  Early  a 
convert  to  heathen  philosophy,  he  adopted  with  fanatical  zeal 
all  the  tenets  of  pagan  theology,  and  pried  with  futile  curiosity 
into  all  its  mysteries  ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  practised  all  those 
high  lessons  of  self-command,  temperance,  and  contempt  of 
pomp  arid  splendour,  which  are  infinitely  more  difficult  to  a  phi- 
losopher on  the  throne,  than  to  one  in  the  schools.  Vain  of  his 
learning  and  talents,  and  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  literary 
equality,  he  descended  to  act  the  haranguer,  the  disputant,  and 
the  satirist,  and  sunk  the  dignity  pf  the  emperor  in  the  loquacity 
of  the  sophist.  Yet  he  aimed,  not  unsuccessfully,  at  the  glory 
of  a  legislator;  and,  more  unhappily  and  inconsistently,  at  that 
of  a  conqueror ;  aspiring  to  be  at  the  same  time  an  Antoninus 
and  an  Alexander.  After  emulating  the  greatest  warriors  in 
courage,  activity,  and  the  endurance  of  hardship  of  every  kind, 
he  lost  his  life  and  brought  the  empire  into  extreme  danger,  by  a 
rash  attack  upon  a  foe  from  whom,  even  in  better  times,  the  Ro- 
man arms  had  reaped  little  but  disgrace.  He  was,  in  fact,  an 
enthusiast  clad  in  a  philosopher's  mantle. 

The  ambition  to  excel  has  rarely  appeared  with  more  lustre 
than  in  the  two  famous  orators  of  Greece  and  Rome,  Demos, 
thenes  arid  Cicero;  for  in  both  it  was  accompanied  with  a  steadi- 
ness of  pursuit,  and  a  limitation  to  important  objects,  which 
raised  them  to  high  distinction  in  their  several  states,  and  has 
perpetuated  their  names  among  those  of  the  greatest  characters 
of  antiquity. 

In  Demosthenes  the  passion  was  more  confined,  embracing 
only  the  wish  of  attaining  the  first  rank  among  the  political  ora- 
tors of  his  country  ;  anil  numerous  are  the  anecdotes  recorded, 
of  his  indefatigable  efforts  to  overcome  the  natural  defects  under 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  367 

which  he  laboured,  and  to  surpass  all  the  most  eloquent  speakers 
of  his  time.  It  was,  indeed,  no  common  object  of  emulation  to 
become  the  man, 

quern  mirabantur  Aihenae 
Torrentem,  et  pleni  moderaniem  frena  theatri. 

JUVENAL. 

or,  in  the  words  of  Milton,  who 

Wielded  at  will  that  fierce  deraocraty, 

Shook  th'  arsenal,  and    ulm.n'd  over  Greece, 

To  Macedon,  and  Artuxerxes'  throne.  JPar.  Reg. 

And  although  his  love  of  praise  may  be  thought  to  have  stooped 
to  a  vulgar  gratification  when  he  was  delighted  to  hear  one  mar- 
ket woman  say  to  another — That  is  the  famous  Demosthenes  ! — 
yet  those  women  were  Athenians  ;  and  he  knew  at  the  same 
time  that  the  Macedonian  court  by  its  hatred  bore  an  equal  tes- 
timony to  his  reputation.  Though  not  superior  to  corruption, 
he  possessed  a  fund  of  real  patriotism,  and  the  liberty  of  his 
country  expired  with  him 

Cicero  was  so  much  favoured  by  nature  in  genius  and  dispo- 
sition, that  while  yet  a  school  boy  he  became  the  pride  and  won- 
der of  his  young  companions.  The  facility,  however,  with  which 
he  obtained  youthful  distinction  did  not  slacken  his  efforts  in 
pursuit  of  mature  excellence ;  and  when  he  had  determined  upon 
the  forum  as  his  chief  scene  of  action,  there  was  no  study  con- 
nected with  the  theory  and  practice  of  perfect  oratory  in  which 
he  did  not  engage  with  the  greatest  ardour.  His  ideas  of  this 
perfection  were  more  extended  than  those  of  Demosthenes,  as 
his  topics  of  public  speaking  were  more  varied.  He  had  like- 
wise a  peculiar  relish  for  philosophical  discussion  ;  and  having, 
during  the  course  of  his  education,  furnished  his  mind  from  the 
copious  stores  of  Grecian  literature  in  this  branch  of  research, 
he  was  enabled,  after  the  subversion  of  the  Roman  constitution 
had  set  him  aside  from  professional  duties,  to  distinguish  him- 
self as  the  greatest  writer  on  morals  and  philosophy  in  the  Latin 
language.  How  much  that  thirst  of  praise  which  stimulated  him 
to  these  extraordinary  exertions  was  the  foible  of  this  admirable 
person,  is  too  well  known  ;  but  though  weakly  covetous  of  fame, 
his  excellent  sense  and  liberal  principles  led  him  to  seek  it  in 
the  paths  of  true  glory. 


368  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

£ir  William  Jones  appears  to  have  been  inspired  with  as  pure 
and  honourable  a  passion  for  excelling,  as  almost  any  individual 
upon  record.  He  was  not  less  distinguished  among  the  compa- 
nions of  his  early  studies  than  Cicero  himself;  and  his  masters 
might  confidently  predict  that  he  would  turn  out  no  common 
man.  Perhaps  he  had  something  of  the  splendid  fault  so  fre- 
quently accompanying  this  cast  of  character,  the  ambition  of 
aiming  at  too  many  acquisitions  at  once  ;  but  how  few  have  really 
equalled  him  in  the  extent  of  his  knowledge  and  the  brilliancy 
of  his  performances  !  It  is,  indeed,  a  kind  of  presumption  to  set 
limits  to  the  capacities  of  a  mind  endued  with  great  natural 
powers,  and  excited  to  action  by  a  strong  and  unremitting  im- 
pulse. Many  examples  prove  that  much  more  may  be  effected 
by  generous  enterprise  than  timid  indolence  would  conceive 
possible  ;  and  although  we  may  sometimes  wish  that  ardour  were 
spontaneously  tempered  by  discretion,  yet  we  should  be  reluc- 
tant to  damp  it  by  discouragement  or  censure. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  prolong  this  paper  by  instances  of 
the  passion  in  question  displayed  by  the  votaries  of  particular 
arts  or  professions,  since  wherever  superior  excellence  is  found, 
that  may  be  presumed  to  have  preceded.  Those  arts  which  ad- 
dress themselves  in  a  peculiar  manner  to  public  admiration  ex- 
hibit the  emulative  spirit  in  a  high  degree,  and  the  history  of 
painting  and  sculpture  affords  remarkable  examples  of  its  agency. 
But  when  thus  confined  to  one  object,  and  to  that  with  which  every 
flattering  prospect  in  life  is  connected,  it  perhaps  does  not  so 
clearly  designate  the  general  disposition,  as  when  operating 
more  excursively.  It  cannot,  however,  be  doubted,  that  when  the 
pursuit  of  excellence  has  occupied  the  whole  man  during  life, 
as  in  the  case  ot  Michael  Angelo,  the  same  temper  would  have 
shown  itself  under  any  circumstances.  It  is,  indeed,  a  disposi- 
tion so  ready  to  burst  forth  into  display,  that  it  scarcely  admits 
of  concealment;  and  as  Dryden  beautifully  says  of  Mrs.  Kille- 
grevv,  whom  he  represents  as  fired  with  the  passion  for  universal 
excellence,  the  "  bright  soul  breaks  out  on  every  side." 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  369 


ON  SELF-BIOGRAPHERS. 


AS  it  must  be  admitted  that  men  know  more  of  their  own  story 
than  any  other  persons  can  know  of  them,  an  obvious  advantage 
arises  from  the  disclosures  they  may  choose  to  make  to  the  pub- 
lic, as  being  more  exact  and  particular  than  can  be  given  by  any 
other  pen.  This  is  especially  the  case  with  respect  to  those  early 
periods  of  life  which  precede  entrance  on  the  open  stage  of  the 
world ;  and  also  to  a  number  of  minute  domestic  facts  which, 
however  trifling  in  appearance,  are  often  of  fundamental  conse- 
quence in  the  elucidation  of  character.  As  far,  then,  as  it  is  in- 
teresting to  contemplate  the  history  of  any  human  being  from  its 
very  origin,  and  to  mark  the  rise  and  progress  of  those  qualities, 
moral  and  intellectual,  by  which  he  is  distinguished  from  every 
other  individual,  the  information  communicated  by  himself  must 
be  peculiarly  valuable.  Who,  for  example,  but  Montaigne  him- 
self was  likely  to  have  acquainted  us  with  that  singular  mode  of 
education  by  which  he  was  talked  into  a  knowledge  of  the  learn- 
ed languages,  without  ever  committing  to  memory  the  common 
rules  of  grammar  ;  and  was  initiated  into  that  course  of  promis- 
cuous and  excursive  reading,  which,  while  it  stored  his  mind 
with  a  vast  mass  of  fact  and  opinion,  and  freed  him  from  the 
shackles  of  the  schools,  also  rendered  him  that  lax  and  irregular 
thinker  which  we  find  him  in  his  Essays  ?  What  friend  of  Frank- 
lin's knew  him  so  early  and  intimately  as  to  have  been  able  to 
relate  those  circumstances  relative  to  the  manner  in  which  he 
passed  his  childhood  and  youth,  which,  in  his  own  narrative,  so 
instructively  point  out  the  steps  of  his  progress  to  that  character 
of  practical  wisdom,  public  and  private,  for  which  he  was  so  con- 
spicuous ?  What  other  person  but  Rousseau  himself  was  ac- 
quainted with  the  impressions  his  mind  underwent  in  childhood, 
from  that  course  of  novel  reading,  followed  by  political  lectures 
on  Plutarch's  Lives,  by  which  his  father  administered  fuel  to  his 
imagination,  and  at  the  same  time  inculcated  the  high  senti- 
ments of  republican  equality  ? 

But  it  is  chiefly  in  this  disclosure  of  unknown  facts,  and  the 
secret  workings  of  the  soul  to  which  no  other  mortal  is  conscious, 
that  the  peculiar  advantage  of  autobiography  consists ;  for  no- 
3A 


.570  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

thing  is  more  rare  than  that  degree  of  self-knowledge  which 
enables  a  person,  even  if  wishing  to  be  sincere,  to  draw  a  true 
portraiture  of  himself.  Though  a  man  who  internally  feels  all 
his  own  foibles  ought  to  be  more  sensible  of  them  than  a  by- 
stander, who  observes  them  only  in  their  occasional  operation, 
yet  such  is  the  blinding  power  of  the  self-love  which  is  rooted  in 
every  bosom,  that  they  are  often  rendered  either  wholly  incon- 
spicuous to  their  owners,  or  appear  with  such  softenings  and  mo- 
difications that  they  are  scarcely  recognised  in  their  proper  cha- 
racter. Hence  what  promises  in  the  outset  to  be  a  frank  con- 
fession of  a  fault,  is  sometimes  so  diluted  and  neutralised  in  the 
progress,  that  its  effect  OB  the  mind  of  an  unwary  reader  is  al- 
most obliterated.  A  remarkable  example  of  this  juggle  of  self 
love  it  afforded  by  a  passage  of  Lord  Clarendon's  Life  of  him- 
self, where  he  is  speaking  in  the  third  person  of  his  own  temper 
and  habits.  "  He  indulged  his  palate  very  muchy  and  even  took 
some  delight  in  eating  and  drinking  well,  but  without  any  ap- 
proach to  luxury ;  and  in  truth  rather  discoursed  like  an  epicu- 
rean, than  ivas  one"  Here  the  language  is  so  ludicrously  in- 
consistent, that  the  noble  writer  must  have  laboured  under  an 
extraordinary  degree  of  mental  obscuration  not  to  have  perceiv- 
ed it.  In  another  passage  the  same  want  of  self-knowledge  is 
displayed/ but  without  such  a  contradiction  in  terms.  "He  was 
in  his  nature  inclined  to  pride  and  passion,  and  to  a  humour  be- 
tween wrangling  and  disputing,  very  troublesome  ;  which  good 
company  in  a  short  time  so  reformed  and  mastered,  that  no  man 
was  more  affable  and  courteous,"  &c.  Now  the  fact  was,  that  a 
stately,  unbending,  ungracious  behaviour,  always  adhered  to  this 
eminent  person,  and  was  one  cause  why  in  his  prosperity  his  ene- 
mies were  much  more  numerous  than  his  friends. 

Another  manner  in  which  self-importance  gives  a  bias  to  auto- 
biographers  is  in  leading  them  to  imagine  that  there  is  some- 
thing very  peculiar  and  extraordinary  in  their  own  characters* 
and  in  the  incidents  of  their  lives.  It  is  flattering  to  a  man's 
vanity  to  indulge  the  conception  that  he  is  formed  in  a  different 
mould  from  other  mortals,  and  is  marked  out  by  events  as  one 
destined  to  act  a  part  appropriate  to  himself  on  the  theatre  of 
the  world.  This  humour  is  happily  exposed  by  Shakespear  in 
the  person  of  Glendower : — 


-At  ray  nativity 


The  front  of  heaven  was  lull  of  fiery  shapes,  &c. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  371 

And  after  much  rodomontage  of  this  kind,  he  adds, 

These  signs  have  marked  me  extraordinary, 
And  ail  the  courses  of  my  life  do  shew 
I  am  not  in  the  roll  of  common  men. 

The  "  Religio  Medici5'  of  Sir  Thomas  Browne  is  filled  with 
similar  assertions  of  the  writer's  singularities  in  mind  and  dis- 
position, as  well  as  with  extravagant  pretentious  to  almost  uni- 
versal knowledge,  at  the  same  time  that  he  disclaims  the  re- 
motest disposition  to  pride  or  self-conceit.  The  celebrated  Lord 
Herbert  of  Cherbury  has  exhibited  in  his  Memoirs  a  propensity 
of  the  same  kind.  Persons  in  whom  pious  feelings  predominate, 
are  led  by  this  infirmity  to  arrogate  the  special  protection  of 
Providence,  and  to  find  miraculous  interpositions  in  their  favour 
in  the  common  escapes  from  difficulty  or  danger. 

For  this  tendency,  however,  a  reader  will  soon  know  how  to 
make  due  allowance :  and  the  little  ebullitions  of  self-conse- 
quence appearing  in  such  forms  are  rather  amusing  than  decep- 
tive, and  indeed  exhibit  a  feature  of  real  portraiture;  but  there 
are  causes  of  misrepresentation  in  autobiography,  the  effects  of 
which  are  less  obvious  to  detection.  In  order  to  be  put  suffi- 
ciently on  our  guard  against  these  sources  of  error,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  consider  the  motives  that  usually  influence  persons  to 
become  the  narrators  of  their  own  history. 

The  desire  of  being  favourably  known  to  the  world  must  be 
regarded  as  nearly  universal  in  self- biographers ;  for  although 
there  is  a  kind  of  blabbing  loquacity  in  some  men  which  urges 
them  to  write,  as  well  as  to  talk,  of  themselves,  solely  for  the 
gratification  they  find  in  it,  yet,  as  this  disposition  is  usually  ac- 
companied with  a  degree  of  vanity,  a  secret  purpose  of  showing 
themselves  off  in  the  fairest  colouring  will  scarcely  fail  to  be- 
come an  additional  motive.  Hence,  in  all  the  confessions  that 
are  made  before  the  public  with  so  much  apparent  frankness,  al- 
though foibles,  defects,  and  even  some  vices  are  readily  acknow- 
ledged, yet  care  is  taken  to  suppress  every  thing  that  would  in- 
dicate meanness,  dishonesty,  selfishness,  cowardice,  and  all  those 
propensities  which  debase  a  character  in  universal  estimation. 
And  if  the  writer  occasionally  discloses  facts  whictv  would  in- 
jure him  in  the  estimation  of  an  exact  moralist,  it  is  because, 
not  being  such  himself,  he  is  not  aware  of  the  consequence.  I 
recollect  no  instance  of  a  man's  betraying  his  own  secrets  at  the 


372  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

hazard  of  appearing  both  contemptible  and  odious,  so  extraordi- 
nary as  that  of  the  Confessions  of  Rousseau  ;  but  his  cast  of  mind 
was  so  singular,  and  indeed  in  some  points  approach  so  nearly 
to  insanity,  that  his  conduct  can  scarcely  be  cited  as  an  excep- 
tion to  the  preceding  remark.  It  is,  moreover,  evident  that  in 
this  very  work  (which,  too,  was  posthumous)  his  object  was  to 
inculcate  a  very  exalted  opinion  of  himself  in  the  most  essential 
points  ;  and  he  probably  thought  that  the  amelioration  of  his 
character  by  philosophy  obliterated  all  the  stains  of  his  early 
life.  In  the  same  manner,  fanatical  religionists  are  ready  to 
charge  themselves  with  having  been  the  worst  of  sinners  pre- 
viously to  that  regeneration  which  has  made  them  saints. 

That  remarkable  character,  Cardan,  was  also  one  who,  with 
high  boasts  of  himself,  has  confessed  to  faults  of  temper  and  con- 
duct, which  cannot  fail  to  depreciate  him  in  the  estimation  of 
every  sober  reader  of  his  life :  but  it  is  apparent  that  his  moral 
sense  was  by  no  means  delicate ;  for  when  he  mentions  his  un- 
happy son,  who  was  executed  for  the  murder  of  his  wife,  he  re- 
presents him  as  an  injured  sufferer,  rather  than  as  a  victim  to 
justice.  In  like  manner  we  find  that  vain  glorious  artist,  Ben- 
venuto  Cellini,  in  his  curious  memoirs,  mentioning  his  acts  of 
violence  and  brutal  revenge  more  as  matter  of  boast,  than  of 
penitence.  In  professed  Apologies  no  one  would  loofc  for  much 
sincerity  of  confession  ;  yet  the  loose  unabashed  character  of 
Colley  Cibber  has  rendered  his  biography  of  himself,  under  that 
title,  a  tolerably  resembling  portrait  of  the  coxcomb  and  liber- 
tine ;  and  certain  female  apologists,  whose  reputation  was  past 
retrieving,  have  not  scrupled  to  record  their  slips  with  reason- 
able fidelity,  for  they  risked  nothing  in  exposing  themselves,  and 
thereby  gained  an  opportunity  of  exposing  others.  The  Marshal 
de  Bassompierre,  another  autobiographer,  is  at  no  pains  to  con- 
ceal his  deep  and  successful  gaming,  and  the  unbounded  license 
of  his  amours,  because,  though  devout  enough  in  the  Roman  Ca- 
tholic form,  he  felt  no  compunction  for  these  peccadilloes,  which 
could  not  hurt  his  character  as  a  gentleman.  Polonius,  in  Ham- 
let, when  he  directs  his  servant  to  throw  some  slander  upon  his 
son  Laertes,  by  way  of  fishing  out  his  secrets  from  his  compa- 
nions, only  cautions  him  to 


— — breathe  his  faults  so  quaintly 

That  they  may  seem  the  taints  of  liberty, 
The  flash  and  outbreak  of  a  fiery  mind. 
A  savageness  in  unreclaimed  blood. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  373 

These  observations  may  suffice  to  show  that  open  confession 
of  some  faults  by  no  means  implies  that  others  are  not  conceal- 
ed ;  and  that  although  we  may  safely  admit  all  the  ill  a  man 
speaks  of  himself,  we  must  not  conclude  that  one  who  knew  him 
thoroughly  could  not  bring  to  light  a  great  deal  more.  And  on 
the  whole,  it  may  be  taken  for  granted  that  the  portraits  of  per- 
sons drawn  by  their  own  hands  will,  if  likenesses,  at  least  be 
flattering  ones;  and  that  the  narratives  of  their  lives,  if  com- 
posed by  themselves,  will,  indeed,  be  rendered  interesting  by 
circumstances  which  could  not  be  communicated  by  others ;  but, 
at  the  same  time,  by  the  suppression  of  some  facts,  and  the  mis- 
representation of  others,  will  mislead  the  reader  who  has  no 
means  of  checking  them  by  different  relations.  If  we  possessed 
no  other  account  of  Margaret  of  Valois,  the  divorced  queen  of 
Henry  IV.,  and  one  of  the  most  licentious  women  in  France, 
than  her  own  memoirs,  she  might  pass  for  a  model  of  chastity. 

Of  the  works  of  this  class,  we  have  many  written  by  states- 
men, generals,  and  persons  employed  in  important  public  trans- 
actions, one  object  of  whom  may  be  generally  concluded  to  have 
been  the  giving  a  favourable  view  of  the  part  they  themselves 
acted  on  the  scene ;  for  it  would  be  too  much  to  expect  of  hu- 
man nature  that  a  public  man  should  sit  down  to  make  a  state- 
ment of  his  own  errors,  purely  for  the  benefit  of  his  successors. 
Such  narratives,  therefore,  though  often  highly  valuable  for  the 
information  they  convey,  as  being  derived  from  sources  inacces 
sible  to  other  writers,  must  always  be  read  with  a  degree  of 
scepticism.  We  know  that  Csesar,  notwithstanding  the  air  of 
unpretending  simplicity  in  his  Commentaries,  was  charged  in 
his  own  time  with  having  passed  over  in  silence  various  in- 
stances of  failure  and  defeat.  If  Cicero's  different  narratives 
of  the  acts  of  his  consulate  had  been  transmitted  to  posterity, 
though  they  might  have  acquainted  us  with  some  circumstances 
of  which  we  are  now  ignorant,  yet  we  may  be  sure  that  he  who  did 
not  scruple  to  request  his  friend  Lucceius  to  violate  the  faith  of 
history  by  throwing  a  lustre  on  his  deeds  beyond  their  desert, 
would  not  have  been  more  scrupulous  in  sacrificing  truth  to 
vanity  with  his  own  pen.  Vanity,  indeed,  is  a  failing  which, 
when  strongly  marked,  may  justly  impair  our  reliance  upon  the 
narrator  of  his  own  actions,  how  estimable  soever  in  other  points. 
Such  a  person  will  at  least  exaggerate,  and  give  a  disproportion- 
ate consequence  to  the  transactions  in  which  he  was  concerned. 


374  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

It  was  said  of  the  brave  but  gasconading  Montluc,  that  lie  was 
one  "  qui  multa fecit,  plura  scripsit" — who  did  much,  but  bragged 
of  more.  The  vanity  and  self-importance  conspicuous  in  Bishop 
Burnet  contributed  much  to  weaken  the  authority  of  his  History 
of  his  own  Time*;  and  though  his  reputation  for  veracity  ap- 
pears in  the  main  to  have  been  gaining  ground,  it  cannot  be 
doubted  that  he  over-rated  his  own  share  in  many  of  the  affairs 
of  which  he  is  the  relator.  It  was  said  of  Burnet's  work,  that 
it  might  be  justly  styled  "  The  importance  of  a  Man  to  himself" 
— a  title  well  merited  by  perhaps  the  generality  of  auto-biogra- 
phers. 

Such  are  the  advantages  and  defects  of  this  class  of  biographi- 
cal writings.  They  are  commonly  entertaining  and  interesting ; 
they  afford  materials  for  the  history  of  the  human  mind  which 
can  scarcely  be  obtained  from  other  sources,  and  are  especially 
valuable  for  the  means  they  present  of  tracing  the  original  for- 
mation of  characters :  at  the  same  time  they  are  almost  univer- 
sally partial  in  the  statement  of  facts ;  frequently  mislead  by 
arrogating  to  their  subjects  a  greater  degree  of  merit  and  conse- 
quence than  belongs  to  them  ;  and  perhaps  never  pourtray  with 
that  truth  of  resemblance  which  would  be  given  by  a  sagacious 
and  impartial  observer.  It  is  worth  while  to  read  all  the  most 
noted  of  these  works,  but  always  with  a  limited  and  suspended 
confidence. 


ON  THE  ATTACHMENT 

TO  MARY,  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 


EVERY  one  who  has  visited  Scotland,  or  who  has  read  tra- 
vels into  that  country,  must  have  been  struck  with  the  great 
popularity  attached  to  the  memory  of  Queen  Mary,  displayed  in 
the  association  of  her  name  with  all  the  places  of  her  temporary 
residence,  and  with  the  scenes  of  her  transactions ;  so  that  a 
stranger  to  Scottish  history  might  suppose  that  the  glory  and  fe- 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  375 

licity  of  her  reign  had  eclipsed  those  of  every  other  in  that  coun- 
try, and  had  thrown  all  its  other  sovereigns  into  oblivion.  Yet 
the  fact  is  so  much  the  reverse,  that  scarcely  ever  has  a  reign 
been  more  unfortunate,  or  a  sovereign  less  entitled  to  the  grati- 
tude of  subjects.  Setting  aside  all  the  controverted  points  rela- 
tive to  the  misconduct  of  this  unhappy  princess,  it  cannot  be  dis- 
puted, that,  being  educated  in  France  among  her  maternal  an- 
cestry, the  Guises,  she  from  childhood  fixed  all  her  affections 
exclusively  upon  that  country — that  on  her  marriage  with  the 
Dauphin  she  was  prevailed  upon  secretly  to  sign  away  that  inde- 
pendence of  which  the  Scottish  nation  has  always  been  so  jealous, 
and  to  make  over  her  hereditary  realm,  in  failure  of  issue,  as  a 
gift  to  the  crown  of  France — that  she  came  to  Scotland  with  a 
rooted  aversion  to  the  country  and  its  inhabitants — that  she  was 
a  bigoted  adherent  to  a  religion  which  the  majority  of  her  sub- 
jects had  discarded — that  in  contempt  of  the  native  nobility;  and 
in  defiance  of  decorum,  she  gave  all  her  confidence  (if  nothing 
more)  to  an  insolent  Italian  upstart — and  that  after  scenes  which 
involved  the  Scottish  name  in  disgrace  throughout  Europe,  and 
which  implied,  if  not  the  blackest  guilt,  at  least  the  greatest  in- 
delicacy, self-will,  and  indiscretion  on  her  part*,  she  was  the  cause 
of  a  civil  war,  which  terminated  in  her  perpetual  exile  from  her 
country.  I  well  know  that  much  may  be  said  in  extenuation  of 
most  of  these  instances  of  misconduct,  and  that  Mary  may  de- 
serve more  to  be  pitied  than  to  be  detested  ;  but  to  select  her  as 
the  object  of  fond  attachment,  and  consecrate  her  memory  as  the 
English  do  that  of  Elizabeth,  and  the  French  of  Henry  IV.  is 
surely  unworthy  of  the  acknowledged  good  sense  of  the  Scotch 
nation. 

It  is  not  difficult,  however,  to  assign  causes  for  this  national 
partiality ;  and  three  especially  may  be  pointed  out  as  having 
operated  upon  differents  sets  of  people. 

The  patriots  ot  Scotland,  warm  in  the  recollection  of  its  strug- 
gles for -independence  against  England,  forget  every  thing  in 
Mary  but  the  unjust  treatment  she  met  with  from  her  English 
rival,  and  regard  her  as  the  victim  of  a  system  of  policy  directed 
to  the  subjugation  of  their  country.  They  pardon  her  subser- 
viency to  France,  from  the  consideration,  that  to  its  connection 
with  that  kingdom,  Scotland  was  indebted  for  its  chief  support 
against  the  usurpations  of  England.  It  is  enough  to  excite  their 
zeal  in  her  favour,  that  she  was  a  Scottish  queen  unjustly  put  to 


376  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

death  by  an  English  one ;  and  all  her  faults  are  sunk  in  her  poli- 
tical martyrdom.  The  motive  to  this  class,  of  which  the  excess 
alone  can  be  blamed,  is  nationality. 

Another  set  of  Mary's  advocates  are  chiefly  instigated  by  par- 
tiality for  the  house  of  Stuart,  a  feeling  once  very  predominant 
in  Scotland,  and  widely  diffused  in  the  sister  country  by  the  spi- 
rit of  jacobitism.  To  all  these,  the  Queen  of  Scots  is  the  revered 
relic  of  an  ancient  royal  house,  and  the  progenitor  of  that  fav- 
ourite race  of  sovereigns  which  long  held  the  sceptre  of  the  com- 
bined kingdoms.  The  resistance  to  her  government,  first  raised 
by  the  Scottish  calvinists,  whose  principles  of  state  partook  of 
republicanism,  appears  to  them  in  the  light  of  a  criminal  rebel- 
lion, and  they  espouse  her  cause  as  the  sacred  cause  of  mon- 
archy. The  zeal  of  this  class  may  be  denominated  party. 

The  third,  and  perhaps  most  numerous,  tribe  of  Mary's  admi- 
rers-are the  sentimentalists.  These  form  to  their  imagination  a 
figure  of  exquisite  beauty,  adorned  with  every  amiable  quality 
and  elegant  accomplishment,  and  fondly  sympathise  with  all  its 
distresses,  as  those  of  a  fair  and  innocent  sufferer,  inflicted  by  a 
jealous  rival.  The  scene  of  her  execution,  so  pathetically  paint- 
ed by  two  historians  little  favourable  to  her  memory,  melts  them 
to  compassion,  and  they  cannot  think  that  one  who  died  so  hero- 
ically could  have  lived  guiltily.  The  tender,  the  romantic,  the 
poetical,  in  both  kingdoms  indifferently,  indulge  this  sensibility 
whenever  the  charming  Queen  of  Scots  is  recalled  to  mind ;  and 
due  allowance,  certainly,  ought  to  be  made  for  feelings  springing 
from  so  pure  a  source.  We  learn  from  history,  that  the  interest- 
ing queen  Joan  of  Naples,  who  also  had  the  misfortune  of  being 
charged  with  the  murder  of  her  husband,  was  the  object  of  simi- 
lar emotions.  At  the  same  time,  it  must  not  be  thought  extra- 
ordinary if  those  who  have  been  accustomed  to  form  their  esti- 
mate of  characters  with  a  little  more  moral  consideration,  should 
be  backward  in  participating  of  this  amiable  enthusiasm.  In  fact, 
few  things  are  more  prejudicial  to  morality  than  indulgence  to 
gross  faults  and  crimes,  on  account  of  qualifications  which  imply 
little  estimable  in  the  owners,  and  are  useless  to  those  with  whom 
they  are  connected.  The  grand  inquiiy  relative  to  persons  in 
every  station  of  life  ought  to  be,  how  they  have  acquitted  them- 
selves in  the  first  line  of  their  duty.  For  failures  here,  no  infe- 
rior merits  can  compensate. 

T  cannot  conclude  without  a  serious  admonition  to  the  respect- 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  377 

able  patriots  of  Scotland  no  longer  to  countenance  a  weak  and 
childish  attachment,  which  is  injurious  to  the  memory  of  their 
other  sovereigns,  and  inconsistent  with  the  sobriety  and  manli- 
ness of  the  national  character. 


ON  THE  IMITATIVE  PRINCIPLE. 


EDUCATION  is  the  process  by  which  a  creature  is  conduct- 
ed from  the  weak  and  imperfect  condition  of  new  existence,  to  a 
state  of  maturity.   It  takes  place,  therefore,  in  some  degree  with 
respect  to  the  whole  animal  creation,  which,  by  the  constitution 
of  nature,  has  this  progress  to  pass  through.     In  the  inferior 
classes,  however,  it  consists  in  mere  corporeal  change,  effected 
by  the  sure  operation  of  natural  causes,  without  any  adventitious 
aid.    The  young  of  many  animals  are  dropped  into  the  midst  of 
all  they  want,  furnished  with  faculties  enabling  them  spontane- 
ously to  make  a  proper  use  of  what  is  provided  for  their  nutri- 
ment.    These  might  be  called  the  favourites  of  nature,  were  not 
the  extent  of  their  enjoyments  as  limited  as  their  procurement 
is  easy.  The  young  of  the  more  perfect  animals  are  not  qualified 
so  soon  to  live  independently.    Strength  and  cunning  are  requi- 
site to  many,  in  order  to  secure  their  subsistence  and  protect 
them  from  their  enemies.    A  task,  therefore,  devolves  upon  their 
parents,  which  consists  of  two  parts  ;  the  providing  of  food  and 
shelter  for  their  bodies,  and  the  instructing  of  them  in  those  arts 
of  life  which  they  will  hereafter  have  occasion  to  practise.  With 
regard  to  the  latter,  however,  nature  seems  chiefly  to  rely  upon 
that  principle  of  imitation  which  she  has  implanted  in  the  young 
of  all  animals,  and  which  prompts  them  to  make  attempts  at  do- 
ing all  they  see  done,  till  by  repeated  trials  they  attain  the  power 
of  doing  the  like.     This  principle  alone  probably  suffices  for  the 
education  of  animals  in  general,  though  in  some  instances  we 
discern  efforts  in  the  parent  to  point  and  direct  it.     Thus,  the 
parent  bird  is  not  content  with  flying  in  the  sight  of  her  young 
ones,  but  takes  manifest  pains  in  instructing  and  encouraging 
them  to  fly. 
SB 


378  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Among  the  less  civilised  tribes  of  mankind,  the  imitative  prin- 
ciple, with  a  slight  degree  of  attention  in  directing  it,  consti- 
tutes almost  the  whole  of  education.  The  young  savage,  as  soon 
as  he  is  able  to  use  his  limbs,  accompanies  his  father  to  the  chase 
or  the  fishery,  makes  his  little  bow  and  arrows,  sets  his  traps  for 
small  birds,  in  short,  does  in  miniature  all  that  he  sees  done  by 
his  elders,  in  copying  whose  actions  he  places  his  utmost  ambi- 
tion. If  active  and  ingenious  by  nature,  he  acquires  every  thing 
almost  of  his  own  accord,  and  gives  no  trouble  to  an  instructor. 
He  learns  the  use  of  language  by  imitation,  selects  his  food  and 
chooses  his  pastimes  by  imitation,  adopts  ceremonial  observances 
and  superstitions  by  imitation,  practises  the  arts  of  life  by  imita- 
tion ;  and,  in  fine,  squares  his  whole  conduct  according  to  that 
principle.  Some  more  curious  points  of  knowledge  or  skill,  some 
secrets  which  long  experience  has  taught,  may  be  communicated 
to  him  by  his  parents  in  the  way  of  positive  instruction ;  and 
constraint  may  be  occasionally  used  to  force  him  to  apply  to  a 
difficult  or  laborious  task.  But,  in  general,  this  is  unnecessary. 
The  arts  requisite  in  savage  life  are  simple,  and  skill  in  them  is 
to  be  obtained  by  repeated  practice  alone.  Their  obvious  utility, 
and  the  honour  gained  by  excelling  in  them,  are  motives  suffi- 
cient to  stimulate  the  emulation  of  the  young ;  and  what  they 
imitate,  they  soon  equal.  With  modes  and  habits  of  life,  senti- 
ments and  opinions  are  acquired,  and  thus  the  new  generation 
becomes  an  exact  copy  of  the  old.  This  is  what  may  be  called 
natural  education.  Its  effects,  as  far  as  they  go,  are  certain  ;  and 
there  is  no  more  doubt  that  the  young  of  the  human  species  thus 
brought  up  will  resemble  their  parents,  than  that  the  young  of  any 
other  animal  will  do  so.  This  education  prevails  in  its  utmost 
perfection  among  the  savage  Americans  ;  and  it  is  curious  to  re- 
mark how,  through  its  means,  with  scarcely  any  artificial  instruc- 
tion, and  with  the  least  possible  restraint  on  freedom  of  action, 
the  same  end  has  been  attained  of  forming  a  warlike  character, 
with  all  its  love  of  glory,  fear  of  shame,  endurance  of  hardship, 
and  contempt  of  pain  and  death,  which  was  effected  by  the  se- 
vere and  unnatural  rigours  of  the  Spartan  discipline. 

Even  in  civilised  societies  a  greater  share  of  education  is  en- 
trusted to  simple  imitation  than  is,  perhaps,  generally  conceived. 
The  common  exercise  of  the  limbs,  the  practice  of  numerous  lit- 
tle arts,  the  use  of  language  itself,  that  noble  distinction  of  man 
from  inferior  animals,  are  all  imbibed  without  direct  instruction. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  379 

Manners,  customs,  the  decencies  of  life,  and  even  sentiments  of 
morality  and  religion,  are  in  great  measure  derived  from  the  pro- 
pensity to  imitate  and  adopt  whatever  is  habitually  heard  and 
seen.  Great  part  of  the  wisdom  of  the  wise  and  of  the  virtue  of 
the  good  is  thus  insensibly  acquired :  indeed,  so  much  is  done 
by  it,  that  it  may  rather  be  made  a  question  what  else  is  requi- 
site in  education,  than  what  is  the  efficacy  of  this.  And  surely 
if  it  can  be  shown  that  what  is  most  valuable  to  the  man  can  be 
obtained  at  no  other  expense  than  that  of  setting  proper  exam- 
ples in  the  way  of  the  child,  for  his  spontaneous  imitation,  such 
a  training  will  be  thought  preferable  to,  the  elaborate  and  uncer- 
tain process  of  artificial  instruction. 

It  cannot  escape  observation,  that  in  the  list  of  things  which 
young  people  are  usually  set  to  learn,  some  may  be  termed  es- 
sential, and  others  only  subordinate;  and  though  all  persons  will 
not  agree  in  the  particulars  which  are  to  be  referred  to  each  of 
these  classes,  yet  it  will  be  generally  allowed  that  the  essentiala.ro, 
such  as  exert  the  greatest  influence  upon  after  life.  To  secure 
these,  though  at  the  expense  of  the  others,  ought  to  be  the  care 
of  every  wise  parent ;  and  the  first  step  to  it  is,  that  parents 
themselves  should  resign  the  vanity  of  showing  o^their  children 
by  forced  acquisitions  which  are  only  admired  in  them  as  chil- 
dren, and  are  thrown  by  and  forgotten  on  the  approach  to  ma- 
turity. It  is  very  much  on  their  account  that  children  are  seclu- 
ded from  family  society,  and  banished  to  boarding-schools,  where 
they  live  in  severe  restraint  or  rude  familiarity,  estranged  from 
all  domestic  endearments,  and  deprived  of  the  means  of  knowing 
any  thing  of  that  world  which  they  are  shortly  to  enter.  The 
most  agreeable  view  of  human  society  is  that  of  an  assemblage  of 
human  beings  of  every  age,  sex,  and  condition,  acting  in  their 
mutual  relations  to  each  other,  mingling  in  serious  and  sportive 
occupations,  and  taking  their  several  parts  in  the  grand  drama 
of  life.  In  such  a  society  it  is  that  minds  are  formed,  that  know- 
ledge and  manners  make  their  silent  progress,  and  that  the  imi- 
tative principle  gradually  leads  on  the  young  to  the  character  and 
acquirements  of  maturity.  It  is  an  assortment  of  individuals 
made  by  the  hand  of  nature,  in  which  all  have  duties  to  perform, 
pleasures  to  receive,  and  improvements  to  make.  Banish  a  part 
of  what  composes/ami'/*/,  and  the  whole  system  is  defective.  It 
should  comprehend  not  only  the  father  and  mother,  the  servants, 
and  the  child  in  the  cradle,  but  the  rising  youth  in  every  succes- 


380  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

sive  gradation.  From  such  a  complete  band,  as  it  were,  pro- 
ceeds the  full  harmony  of  the  charities  of  life.  The  children  of 
middle  age  look  down  upon  the  infants  with  tender  affection, 
and  up  to  the  elder  branches  with  a  softened  respect;  thus  fos- 
tering emotions  which  are  to  make  them  amiable  and  estimable 
in  future  life.  When  the  well  grown  boy  employs  himself  in 
teaching,  conducting,  and  protecting  his  younger  brothers  and 
sisters,  and  the  womanly  girl  assists  her  mother  in  the  cares  of 
the  nursery,  what  a  fund  of  skill  and  patience  are  they  acquiring 
for  the  most  important  duties  of  men  and  women  ! 

It  may  be  made  a  general  remark,  that  when  any  one  of  the 
divisions  of  mankind  is  separated  from  the  rest,  and  forms  a  so- 
ciety apart,  a  generic  character  is  produced  by  virtue  of  the 
imitative  principle,  widely  deviating  from  that  which  it  would 
have  maintained  while  mingled  with  the  mass.  Thus  the  monas- 
tic societies,  male  and  female,  have  composed  a  race  of  beings, 
in  their  manners  and  sentiments  scarcely  preserving  any  simi- 
larity with  those  of  the  world  they  have  renounced.  Those  go- 
vernments which  have  been  desirous  of  training  military  men  to 
the  highest  pitch  of  ferocity,  have  been  careful  to  prevent  them 
from  mixing  in  the  scenes  of  civil  life.  Soldiers  long  confined 
to  a  garrison,  and  sailors  to  a  ship,  are  apt  totally  to  forget  their 
relation  to  the  community  at  large,  and  to  become  assimilated  to 
a  band  of  robbers  in  their  den.  The  Zaporavian  Cossacs  are  so 
sensible  of  the  effects  of  this  seclusion,  that  in  their  community, 
which  is  an  association  for  blood  and  plunder,  they  admit  no 
women  or  children.  I  would  not  say  any  thing  unnecessarily 
harsh  of  institutions  among  ourselves  which  many  approve  ;  but 
I  might  be  permitted  to  ask,  what  are  those  boasted  virtues  of 
hardy  resolution,  unshaken  fidelity  to  their  companions,  steady 
combination  against  authority,  and  defiance  of  punishment  and 
censure,  which  are  acquired  at  our  public  schools,  but  qualities 
resembling  those  of  the  detached  societies  above  mentioned,  and 
directly  hostile  to  the  principles  which  produce  the  welfare  of  so- 
ciety in  general  ? 

With  respect  to  the  schools  for  the  other  sex,  I  cannot  sup- 
pose them  nurseries  of  dispositions  like  these,  nor  am  I  a  be- 
liever in  the  stories  circulated,  chiefly  among  the  licentious, 
concering  the  prevalence  of  gross  violations  of  decency  in  them. 
I  am  convinced,  that  in  all  the  reputable  seminaries  of  this  class 
the  higher  morals  are  guarded  with  due  vigilance.  But  I  would 
ask  those  who  are  best  acquainted  with  them,  whether  the  society 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  381 

of  a  number  of  equals  under  rigorous  restraint,  without  the  sof- 
tening of  domestic  pleasures  and  parental  endearments,  do  not 
frequently  tend  to  fret  and  sour  the  temper,  and  give  scope  to 
mean  and  spiteful  passions,  to  envy,  detraction,  and  tale  bear- 
itig,  which  render  unlovely  the  most  amiable  part  of  the  creation? 

What  is  the  result  of  all  these  observations  ?  That  since  the 
imitative  principle  has  such  a  powerful  operation  upon  the  fu- 
ture character,  it  is  of  the  highest  importance  that  proper  objects 
should  be  presented  to  it  during  the  early  years  of  life — and  that 
due  advantage  should  be  taken  of  its  influence,  to  inculcate 
those  lessons  which  by  no  other  means  can  be  so  easily  and  effi- 
caciously impressed  upon  the  youthful  mind.  Domestic  education 
alone  affords  the  opportunity  of  applying  this  principle  in  the 
fullest  and  most  beneficial  manner  ;  and,  therefore,  in  a  general 
view,  deserves  the  preference  to  other  modes. 

There  are,  however,  various  exceptions  to  this  preference  of  a 
home  education,  which  demand  attention.  The  first  to  be  men- 
tioned is  a  most  serious  one :  it  is,  that  in  the  present  state  of 
manners  a  child  frequently  cannot  draw  his  examples  from  a 
more  improper  source  than  his  father's  house.  And  if  such  an 
awful  consideration  be  unable  to  produce  a  change  in  the  pa- 
rental economy,  doubtless  its  weight  is  decisive.  Let  the  child 
rather  be  exiled  to  the  remotest  parts  of  the  earth  than  stay  to 
date  his  ruin  from  home.  Nor,  when  the  danger  is  manifest, 
would  I  think  of  concealing  or  palliating  it  by  proposing  the  ex- 
pedients of  separate  apartments,  a  distinct  establishment,  or 
other  safeguards,  which  must  all  prove  unavailing  where  the 
current  of  dissolute  manners  runs  strong.  One  remark,  how- 
ever, I  will  venture  to  make.  Where  the  principal  hazard  is 
supposed  to  arise  from  the  idea  a  child  of  family  and  fortune 
brought  up  at  home  will  acquire  of  his  own  consequence,  by 
means  of  the  deference  and  submission  he  will  experience  from 
servants  and  dependants,  that  will  not  be  effectually  obviated  at 
a  public  school.  The  pretended  equality  in  those  schools  is  ra- 
ther imaginary  than  real.  There,  not  less  than  at  home,  are 
parasites  and  panders,  vigilant  to  flatter  his  pride  and  minister 
to  his  inclinations.  When  boys  of  inferior  fortune  are  sent  to 
public  seminaries  for  the  avowed  purpose  of  ingratiating  them- 
selves with  the  sons  of  persons  of  rank,  can  it  be  supposed  that 
the  latter  wiiyje^eft  ignorant  of  their  importance,  and  uncorrupt- 
ed  by  its  effects  ?  The  generosity  ^of  spirit  usually  attributed  to 


382  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

youth  educated  at  those  schools  is,  I  fear,  of  no  genuine  kind  ; 
and  the  mercenary  character  of  the  age  has  in  no  instance  more 
disgusted  me,  than  in  the  sentiments  I  have  discovered  in  some 
of  these  tiros,  who,  in  speaking  of  the  reputation  and  proficiency 
of  some  of  their  fellow  scholars,  have  dwelt  with  peculiar  com- 
placency on  the  advantages  they  were  likely  to  derive  from  them 
in  the  pursuit  of  pecuniary  emolument.  Fair  fame,  literary  plea- 
sures, the  gratification  of  parents  and  friends,  were  ideas  that 
appeared  quite  foreign  to  their  conceptions ;  and  gain  seemed  as 
much  their  leading  object,  as  if  simple  and  compound  interest, 
rather  than  Cicero  and  Horace,  had  been  the  study  for  their 
years. 

Another  exception  to  domestic  education  arises  from  the  ne- 
cessity of  acquiring  certain  objects  of  instruction  which  cannot 
be  attained  in  the  requisite  degree  at  home,  even  with  the  assis- 
tance of  a  day-school,  which  I  consider  as  no  deviation  from  the 
domestic  plan.  These  objects  are  chiefly,  in  the  male  sex,  clas- 
sical literature  in  its  highest  form  ;  in  the  female,  the  accom- 
plishments of  polite  life  in  an  equal  style  of  perfection.  Of  the 
existence  of  this  necessity  no  general  judgment  can  be  formed. 
It  is  an  individual  question  in  each  particular  case,  and  only  to 
be  determined  by  the  views  of  the  parent  as  to  the  future  desti- 
nation of  the  child.  Doubtless  there  are  desirable  situations  in 
this  country  which  can  scarcely  be  obtained  without  a  high  clas- 
sical reputation,  and,  it  may  be  added,  without  those  connections, 
and  that  habit  of  pushing  and  elbowing  through  a  crowd  of  com- 
petitors, which  are  the  usual  acquisitions  of  a  public  school.  If 
these  are  to  be  had  at  any  rate,  the  price  must  be  paid  for  them ; 
and  it  may  be  prudentially  right  to  sacrifice  every  thing — ex- 
cept (some  will  say)  morals — to  such  an  object.  As  I  am  now 
speaking  of  the  earlier  periods  of  education,  it  is  needless  to 
point  out,  as  further  exceptions,  those  professional  studies  which 
are  to  be  sought  in  colleges  and  universities.  At  the  time  when 
they  commence,  the  season  approaches  in  which  domestic  life 
must  of  course  be  renounced,  and  new  scenes  be  entered  upon. 
The  imitative  principle,  however,  ought  still  to  be  kept  in  sight, 
for  its  operation  is  scarcely  less  powerful  than  at  an  earlier  age. 
It  now  points  to  fashion  ;  and  if  some  seminaries  are  character- 
ised by  the  fashion  of  idleness  and  dissipation,  and  others  by 
that  of  industry  and  sobriety,  a  parent  who  hasj^isfson's  best  in- 
terest in  view,  will  not  hesitate  about  the  preference.  To  iml 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  383 

tation,  likewise,  may  be  referred  the  peculiarities  of  sect  and 
party  which  now  begin  to  be  strongly  marked  and  permanently 
fixed  ;  and  they  who  are  concerned  in  supporting  such  distinc- 
tions must  take  care  to  place  suitable  models  before  the  imita- 
tive youth. 

Of  those  necessities  which  oblige  females  in  certain  ranks  of 
life  to  pursue  accomplishments  by  a  sacrifice  of  the  qualifica- 
tions requisite  to  make  them  good  wives  and  mothers,  I  confess 
myself  an  inadequate  judge  ;  nor  shall  I  venture  to  say  any  thing 
concerning  the  accomplishments  themselves,  and  the  best  mode 
of  acquiring  them.  There  is  one  female  accomplishment,  how- 
ever, on  which  I  shall  take  the  liberty  to  make  a  few  remarks, 
and  this  is  a  talent  for  conversation.  I  believe  I  shall  not  err  in 
placing  it  at  the  head  of  all  attainments  with  respect  to  its  at- 
tractive powers.  Other  excellencies  inspire  occasional  admira- 
tion, but  this  rivets  the  attention.  It  fascinates  even  more,  at 
least  more  generally,  than  beauty  ;  nor  is  it  fitted  for  the  throng 
and  circle  alone,  but  exerts  its  influence  in  the  private  party, 
and  constitutes  the  charm  of  domestic  society.  That  it  is  so 
little  cultivated  among  us  may  seem  surprising;  but  there  are 
no  masters  to  teach  it,  nor  do  wealth  and  rank  afford  peculiar 
facilities  for  acquiring  it.  In  fact,  as  far  as  it  is  a  qualification 
to  be  learned,  and  not  the  gift  of  nature,  next  to  the  essential 
requisite  of  a  well  furnished  mind,  the  habit  of  holding  free  and 
mixed  conversation  must  be  the  most  efficacious  aid.  But  where 
is  this  advantage  to  be  obtained  ?  Certainly  not  within  the  walls 
of  a  boarding  school,  where  the  trivial  chatter  of  children  among 
one  another,  only  interrupted  by  the  chilling  presence  of  de- 
spotic governesses,  must  exclude  every  possible  attempt  at  ra- 
tional and  animated  converse.  Domestic  life,  when  it  is  what  it 
ought  to  be,  is  the  only  female  school  for  this  attainment.  Where 
parents  have  the  ability  to  lead,  and  the  sense  to  encourage, 
proper  conversation,  and  where  a  due  mixture  of  well  educated 
visitors  of  both  sexes  and  all  ages  infuses  life  and  variety  into 
the  social  circle,  there  is  the  theatre  where  this  delightful  accom- 
plishment receives  its  birth  and  perfection. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  specify  other  exceptions  to  domestic  edu- 
cation, arising  from  circumstances  which  depreciate  the  value 
of  home,  though  not  of  an  immoral  nature;  such  are  vulgarity, 
ignorance,  awkward  manners,  singularities,  and  the  like.  In 
these  cases,  it  is  not  the  object  of  wise  parents  to  make  the  chil- 


384  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

dren  similar  to  themselves,  and  therefore  the  imitative  principle 
must  have  other  models  to  work  after.  If  these  cannot  be  pro- 
vided but  by  means  of  a  school,  the  expedient  must  be  submitted 
to  as  the  least  evil.  It  may  likewise  be  proper  sometimes  to 
check  the  force  of  domestic  imitation,  eveh  when  upon  the  whole 
well  directed,  by  temporary  absences  and  changes  of  scene,  lest  so 
close  a  family  likeness  be  caught  as  to  render  the  young  mere 
copies  of  the  old,  and  mannerists  in  character.  But  this  may  be 
left  to  the  suggestions  of  good  sense  without  further  remark  ; 
and  I  now  close  a  discussion  which  the  importance  of  the  sub- 
ject has  carried  beyond  its  intended  limits. 


HISTORICAL  RELATIONS  OF  POISONINGS. 


EVERY  one  who  is  conversant  with  history  must  recollect 
numerous  instances  in  which  the  death  of  eminent  persons  has 
been  attributed  to  poison.  In  some  periods,  particularly,  this 
notion  has  been  so  prevalent,  that  scarcely  one  is  to  be  met  with 
in  a  whole  line  of  sovereigns  who  has  been  supposed  to  have 
died  from  the  consequences  of  mere  natural  disease.  Besides 
this  vague  supposition,  several  of  the  more  noted  cases  of  poi- 
soning have  heen  admitted  into  the  number,  of  unquestioned  his- 
torical facts,  although  attended  with  circumstances  which  a  little 
reflection  would  show  to  be  highly  improbable.  I  shall  not  here 
inquire  whether  the  propensity  to  this  belief  be  owing  to  a  natu- 
ral malignity  in  mankind,  a  love  of  wonder  and  mystery,  or  any 
other  innate  principle;  it  is  sufficient  that  it  is  one  of  the  sources 
of  erroneous  opinion,  to  induce  a  lover  of  truth  to  submit  it  to 
impartial  discussion. 

It  appears  to  me,  that  in  judging  of  this  matter  certain  rules 
or  canons  may  be  laid  down,  which  might  abridge  the  process  of 
inquiry  in  each  particular  case,  or  even  supersede  such  an  exa- 
mination as,  from  the  distance  of  time,  and  want  of  authentic 
testimony,  cannot  now  be  satisfactorily  instituted.  The  first  of 
these  that  I  shall  propose  is  the  following :  Great  crimes  are  to 
be  regarded  as  among  the  rarer  occurrences  of  human  life ;  when- 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  385 

ever,  therefore,  an  event  can  with  probability  be  accounted  for 
without  their  aid,  it  is  unphilosophical  to  suppose  their  exist- 
ence. 

I  know  not  how  far  this  proposition  will  be  generally  allowed  ; 
but  for  my  own  part,  being  convinced  that  there  is  more  good,  both 
moral  and  physical,  than  evil  in  the  world,  and  that  even  in  bad 
characters  crimes  abhorrent  to  human  nature  are  not  committed 
without  a  degree  of  repugnance,  I  cannot  give  an  easy  credit  to 
such  an  imputation  as  that  of  poisoning,  unless  I  perceive  a  very 
powerful  motive  inciting  to  the  deed.  Even  adepts  in  villainy 
have  held  the  maxim  that  crime  is  too  precious  a  thing  to  be  la- 
vished, and  have  therefore  reserved  it  for  important  occasions. 
In  fact,  they  have  been  desirous  of  doing  without  it,  if  possible ; 
both  to  save  themselves  the  secret  pain  of  guilt,  which  the  most 
hardened  can  seldom  entirely  subdue,  and  to  escape  the  odium 
and  danger  of  a  detection.  Certain  characters  in  history  are  so 
blackened  with  infamy,  that  every  charge  against  them  is  apt  to 
appear  probable,  and  examination  is  thought  superfluous.  But 
many  of  those  persons  were  as  prudent  as  they  were  wicked ; 
and  the  actions  of  a  Tiberius  or  a  Borgia  require  adequate  mo- 
tives, as  much  as  those  of  the  most  virtuous  of  mankind.  In  se- 
veral of  these  cases  of  imputed  poison,  a  known  constitutional 
disease,  or  old  age,  would  soon  innocently  have  effected  all  that 
crime  could  propose  to  do.  When  almost  the  whole  royal  family 
of  France  was  swept  away  in  the  latter  years  of  Louis  XIV., 
men  of  understanding  saw  the  cause  in  the  enfeebled  progeny  of 
luxury,  rather  than  in  the  chemical  laboratory  of  Philip  of  Or- 
leans. 

Another  canon  is,  that  the  supposition  of  poison  is  not  to  be 
adopted  in  order  to  account  for  deaths,  the  circumstances  of 
which  are  totally  different  from  the  known  effects  of  poisonous 
substances. 

In  common  opinion,  poison,  like  magic  or  any  other  mysteri- 
ous power,  is  conceived  capable  of  acting  in  any  mode  required. 
It  can  kill  instantly,  or  at  ten  years  distance — by  the  ordinary 
vehicle  of  food  and  drink,  or  by  the  extraordinary  conveyance  of 
perfumes,  vapours,  and  topical  applications — with  known  and 
customary  symptoms,  or  with  such  as  are  new  and  unaccounta- 
ble. But  no  physician  or  naturalist  can  admit  such  gratuitous  as- 
sumptions. He  will,  in  the  first  place,  remark  that  all  the  poi- 
sonous substances  which  modern  researches  (so  much  more  accu- 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

rate  than  ancient)  have  detected,  are  referable  to  certain  classes^ 
distinguished  by  precise  and  definite  modes  of  action.  Thus,  the 
corrosive,  the  drastic,  the  narcotic  poisons,  in  all  their  various  de- 
grees of  strength,  are  as  well  known  by  their  sensible  operation., 
as  the  classes  ef  medicines  with  which  they  are  connected,  and 
in  which,  indeed,  they  are  for  the  most  part  comprehended.  I 
do  not  mean  to  assert  that  it  is  impossible  there  should  be  in  na- 
ture deleterious  substances  whose  effects  are  not  reducible  to  the 
above  mentioned  classes;  but  1  would  maintain  it  to  be  highly 
improbable  that  any  such,  in  those  parts  of  the  world  which  have 
been  the  chief  theatres  of  historical  events,  should  have  escaped 
the  inquiries  of  naturalists  and  chemists.  Further,  it  will  appear 
that  some  of  the  imputed  consequences  of  poison  are  absolutely 
irreconcileable  to  the  laws  of  the  animal  economy.  Thus,  though 
it  be  possible  that  a  noxious  substance  received  into  the  stomach 
shall  not  only  excite  immediate  disturbances,  but  shall  lastingly 
injure  the  constitution  ;  yet  that,  conformably  to  some  stories,  it 
should  lodge  weeks  and  months  in  the  intestinal  canal  perfectly 
harmless,  and  reserve  all  its  mischievous  effects  to  some  remote 
period,  precisely  determined  by  the  giver,  is,  I  conceive,  an  im- 
possibility. Again — that  any  poison  can  be  so  volatilised  and 
concentrated  as  to  kill  by  the  odour  communicated  to  a  letter  or 
a  pair  of  gloves — or  that  any  exists  sufficiently  strong  and  pene- 
trable to  prove  mortal  by  infecting  the  caul  of  a  wig,  or  by 
fruit  touched  by  an  envenomed  knife — will  scarcely  be  cre- 
dited by  a  reflecting  mind ;  for  although  the  miasms  of  cer^ 
tain  diseases  are  destructive  in  forms  as  subtle  as  these,  it  is  in- 
conceivable that  any  human  beings  could  prepare  a  venom  so 
exquisite  without  being  themselves  destroyed  by  it. 

A  very  suspicious  circumstance  with  respect  to  many  stories 
of  poisoning  is  the  alleged  efficacy  of  counter  poisons.  The 
doctrine  relative  to  these  substances — that  a  previous  use  of 
them  will  fortify  the  body  against  the  operation  of  any  poisons 
that  may  be  afterwards  administered — is  contrary  to  every  fact 
respecting  such  things  as  we  know  to  be  really  poisonous.  One 
of  the  most  famous  compositions  of  the  antidote  class,  that  con- 
trived for  Mithridates  by  his  physician  Archigenes,  has  come 
down  to  our  times;  and  it  is  certain  that  a  person  might  take 
large  doses  of  it  daily  for  his  whole  life  without  being  secured 
from  the  baneful  effects  of  any  poison,  except,  perhaps,  opium, 
vyhich  is  contained  in  the  composition  itself. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  387 

A  number  of  the  antidotes  in  highest  repute  have  been  the 
most  inert  substances  in  nature,  chosen  from  their  rarity  alone* 
or  from  some  fanciful  and  superstitious  notion  connected  with 
them,  and  such  aa  could  have  no  possible  efficacy  in  rendering  a 
deleterious  drug  harmless.  Indeed,  the  whole  anlidotary,  which 
was  formerly  a  copious  division  in  books  of  materia  medica,  is 
expunged  from  modern  works  of  that  class. 

When,  therefore,  of  two  persons  supposed  to  have  taken  poi 
son,  one  is  alleged  to  have  escaped  by  means  of  a  counter-poison, 
we  may  pretty  safely  conclude  that  neither  of  them  was  in  reality 
in  danger  from  that  cause. 

Poisoning  and  magical  arts  are  common  combinations  in  cri- 
minal charges.  Indeed,  the  term  veneficium  in  Latin  signifies 
equally  poisoning  and  sorcery.  We  know  the  latter  to  have 
been  a  fictitious  crime,  the  creation  of  superstition  and  credu- 
lity; and  it  is  highly  probable  that  in  those  instances  the  poi- 
soning was  in  like  manner  a  false  imputation,  the  forgery  of  ma- 
lignity and  calumny.  It  is  true,  the  charge  of  sorcery  or  witch- 
craft has  sometimes  been  well  founded  ;  that  is,  practices  of  that 
kind  have  really  been  employed,  in  the  belief  that  they  would 
produce  the  mischiefs  intended ;  and  persons  capable  of  such 
criminality  would  probably  feel  no  repugnance  at  any  other  ne- 
farious practices  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  if  they  confided  in  their 
magical  rites,  they  would  think  an  additional  mode  of  effecting 
their  wicked  purposes  superfluous* 

As  another  rule  in  judging  of  stories  of  poisoning,  it  might, 
perhaps,  be  required  in  support  of  them  to  show  by  what  means 
the  poison  could  be  administered ;  or,  at  least,  to  answer  the  ob- 
jection often  arising  from  the  apparent  difficulty  of  such  admi- 
nistration. Kings  and  princes  are  usually  surrounded  with 
officers  in  such  a  situation  of  responsibility,  or  so  much  attached 
to  their  persons  by  interest,  that  it  would  be  no  easy  matter  either 
to  engage  them  to  concur  in  such  a  design,  or  for  any  one  of  them 
to  execute  it  without  the  hazard  of  immediate  detection.  Vol- 
taire may  perhaps  be  thought  to  have  displayed  an  outrageous 
degree  of  scepticism  in  questioning  the  offer  made  by  the  physi- 
cian of  king  Pyrrhus  to  the  Roman  consuls,  of  poisoning  his  mas- 
ter, on  the  ground  that  the  confidential  medical  attendant  upon 
an  opulent  monarch  could  not  expect  a  reward  from  the  magis- 
trates of  a  poor  republic,  adequate  to  the  risk  and  certain  loss  he 
would  incur  by  the  attempt :  I  have  no  doubt,  however,  that  phy 


388  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

sicians  have  often  been  falsely  accused  of  this  crime.  They 
have,  indeed,  the  easiest  opportunities  of  administering  a  fatal 
dose ;  but  they  are  the  most  closely  watched ;  and  in  arbitrary 
courts  it  is  a  service  of  danger  enough  to  give  even  an  approved 
medicine  of  powerful  operation. 

It  is  very  seldom  that  in  historical  relations  of  poisonings  proof 
has  been  given  of  the  fact  from  examination  of  the  dead  body. 
Appearances,  indeed,  are  often  mentioned  as  denoting  poison, 
but  these  are  sometimes  of  so  marvellous  a  kind  as  to  throw  doubt 
upon  the  whole  story;  sucli  is  that  of  the  heart  remaining  entire 
on  the  funeral  pyre  when  the  rest  of  the  body  was  consumed.  In 
fact,  there  is  no  change  in  the  dead  body  induced  by  poison  which 
is  not  also  a  consequence  of  natural  disease,  except  large  and 
recent  erosions  of  the  stomach  and  bowels  ;  yet  many  positive 
judgments  have  been  hazarded  where  this  circumstance  was 
wanting,  and  where  nothing  was  seen  but  what  was  entirely  equi- 
vocal. The  detection  of  the  remains  of  some  poisonous  substance 
in  the  intestinal  canal  is  a  demonstrative  proof  of  the  fact,  which 
seems  scarcely  ever  to  have  been  attempted  in  cases  recorded  by 
historians. 

If  the  preceding  rules  and  observations  are  well  founded,  we 
shall  be  warranted  in  regarding  with  doubt,  arid  admitting  with 
caution,  many  of  the  most  remarkable  instances  in  which  the 
death  of  eminent  persons  has  been  attributed  to  poison,  especi- 
ally where  strong  prejudices  have  prevailed  against  the  supposed 
perpetrators,  and  the  crime  has  been  imputed  as  a  thing  of  course, 
without  any  evidence  of  fact.  The  narrations  may  justly  be  more 
suspected  when  they  relate  to  an  ignorant  and  superstitious  age 
or  country,  which  have  always  most  abounded  in  tales  of  wonder 
of  every  kind. 

1  am  very  far  from  supposing  that  human  wickedness  has  not 
often,  both  in  public  and  private  life,  employed  this  instrument 
in  effecting  its  detestable  purposes ;  but  something  is  gained  to 
the  cause  of  benevolence  whenever  we  are  able  to  exonerate  our 
fellow  creatures  from  any  odious  charge  ;  and  historical  truth  is 
at  all  events  an  interesting  object  of  inquiry.  I  shall  now  pro- 
ceed to  apply  the  principles  I  have  attempted  to  establish,  in  an 
examination  of  some  noted  instances  in  which  credit  has  been 
given  to  the  imputation  of  poisoning. 

Germanicus  Caesar,  the  nephew  and  adopted  son  of  the  empe- 
ror Tiberius,  is,  by  some  writers,  positively  asserted  to  have  been 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  389 

poisoned  by  Piso,  prefect  of  Syria,  at  the  instigation  of  Tiberius, 
Suetonius  and  Tacitus  relate  the  circumstances  of  his  death,  and 
both  mention  the  suspicion  of  poison,  the  former  seeming  to  give 
credit  to  it,  the  latter  not.  From  their  accounts,  particularly  that 
of  Tacitus,  which  is  the  fullest,  it  appears,  that  Germanicus,  be- 
ing sent  by  his  uncle  to  command  in  the  east,  was  followed  by 
Piso,  a  man  of  violent  temper,  and  hostile  to  the  young  prince  ; 
and  there  is  good  reason  to  suppose  that  Tiberius,  in  conformity 
with  the  maxims  of  his  dark  and  crafty  policy,  had  purposely 
chosen  a  person  of  that  character  to  check  and  control  his  too 
popular  nephew.  Germanicus,  after  visiting  various  countries, 
returning  from  Egypt  to  Antioch,  fell  sick  there,  and  lingering 
some  time  between  apparent  amendment  and  relapse,  at  length 
died.  As  he  was  the  great  favourite  of  the  Roman  people,  his 
death  excited  universal  commisseration,  which  his  friends  took 
every  means  to  augment;  and  suspicions  of  foul  practices 
were  soon  raised  against  Piso,  which  were  at  length  brought  to 
judicial  examination  before  the  senate.  The  emperor  seems  to 
have  acted  with  great  fairness  and  propriety  on  the  occasion,  suf- 
fering the  accusation  to  take  its  free  course,  yet  endeavouring 
to  moderate  the  violence  and  prejudice  of  the  public  mind. 
The  charges  against  Piso  were  various ;  but  that  respecting 
the  poison  was  supported  by  the  following  evidence  alone. 
The  act  was  asserted  to  have  been  committed  at  a  banquet, 
given  by  Germanicus  himself,  in  which  Piso  sat  next  to  him, 
who  was  imagined  to  have  poisoned  his  food  by  touching  it  with 
infected  hands — a  supposition  than  which  one  more  improbable 
and  even  absurd  has  scarcely  ever  been  made  in  a  similar  case ! 
The  dead  body,  when  exposed  on  the  forum  of  Antioch,  is  said 
by  Suetonius  to  have  exhibited  livid  spots,  with  foam  at  the 
mouth  ;  and  a  very  extraordinary  circumstance  is  related,  namely, 
that  the  heart  remained  unconsumed  on  the  funeral  pyre  ;  a  fact 
which  the  philosophy  of  the  day  regarded  as  decisive  of  poison  ; 
though,  indeed,  Pliny  asserts  it  also  to  occur  in  those  who  died  of 
the  morbus  cardiacus.  It  is  further  asserted,  that  a  famous  fe- 
male poisoner,  an  intimate  of  Plancina,  the  wife  of  Piso,  on  being 
sent  for  from  the  province  to  Rome,  died  suddenly  at  Brundu- 
sium,  and  that  poison  was  found  tied  up  in  a  knot  of  her  hair. 
As  no  signs  of  violent  death  were  discovered  in  her  body,  it 
seems  to  have  been  imagined  that  the  power  of  the  poison  pene 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

trated  through  her  skull  into  her  brain.  Such  weak  and  ridicu- 
lous arguments  are  surely  more  calculated  to  excite  disbelief 
than  conviction. 

One  thing  which  appeared  on  the  trial,  though  a  proof  of  the 
bad  intentions  of  the  enemies  of  Germanicus,  yet,  according  to 
my  principles,  is  rather  an  argument  against  the  poisoning.  This 
was,  that  about  the  house  in  which  he  lodged,  certain  leaden 
images,  relics  of  human  bodies,  and  verses  of  incantation  were 
found,  by  which  his  foes  evidently  hoped  to  render  his  disease 
mortal.  If  they  were  conscious  of  having  administered  poison, 
these  magical  practices  might  have  been  spared. 

On  the  whole,  though  Piso,  despairing  to  survive  the  popular 
odium  against  him,  and  probably  conscious  of  unwarrantable  con- 
duct  towards  the  prince,  put  an  end  to  his  own  life  in  prison, 
yet  it  appears  to  me  almost  certain,  that  the  death  of  Germani- 
cus was  owing  to  natural  disease,  aggravated,  perhaps,  by  alarm 
and  vexation  ;  and  in  no  respect  to  poison. 

One  of  the  most  famous  stones  in  the  annals  of  poisoning  is 
that  of  Pope  Alexander  VI.  and  his  son  Ceesar  Borgia,  of  whom 
the  first  is  said  to  have  been  killed,  and  the  second  thrown  into 
a  dangerous  illness,  by  poison  taken  through  mistake,  which  they 
had  themselves  prepared  for  others.  The  characters  of  these 
monsters  in  the  human  shape  will  certainly  render  credible  any 
useful  crime  which  comes  within  the  compass  of  the  most  con- 
summate villainy  ;  but  at  the  same  time,  this  just  prejudice 
against  them  may  easily  become  a  cause  of  error  in  particular 
cases.  The  story  is  related  with  great  diversity  of  circumstance 
by  different  authors ;  but  taking  that  given  by  Tomasi,  in  his  life 
of  Ceesar  Borgia,  as  apparently  the  most  accurate,  we  shall  pro- 
bably find  reason  to  doubt  whether  poison  had  any  concern  in 
the  event.  The  simple  narrative  of  what  is  known  to  have  hap- 
pened is  the  following. 

Pope  Alexander  having  made  a  promotion  of  nine  new  cardi- 
nals, invited  them  and  some  of  the  old  ones  to  an  entertainment 
given  at  the  villa  of  a  cardinal  near  the  Vatican.  He  and  his 
son  went  to  the  place  about  the  cool  of  the  evening.  It  was  the 
2d  of  August,  and  the  weather  extremely  hot.  The  pope  called 
for  a  draught  of  wine  to  quench  his  thirst,  and  his  son  followed 
his  example.  The  guests  arriving  soon  after,  they  sat  down  to 
supper ;  when  the  pope  was  suddenly  taken  ill,  fainted  away, 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  391 

and  was  carried  out  senseless.  His  son  was  presently  seized  in 
the  same  manner,  and  was  also  carried  home.  The  pope  recov- 
ered his  senses  after  a  time,  but  fell  into  a  violent  fever.  He 
was  blooded,  and  other  medicines  were  employed ;  but  his 
strength  gradually  failing,  he  died  on  the  eighth  day.*  His  son 
had  a  long  and  seveie  illness,  but  at  length,  through  the  strength 
of  his  constitution,  recovered.  So  far  we  are  gnided  by  acknow- 
ledged fact.  The  secret  part  of  the  story  relates,  that  some  bot- 
tles of  wine,  drugged  with  a  white  powder  like  sugar,  the  usual 
poison  employed  by  these  miscreants,  were  sent  from  the  pope's 
cellar  to  the  villa,  with  private  orders  to  the  butler  to  serve  it  to 
such  of  the  guests  alone  as  should  be  pointed  out  to  him.  The 
head  butler  being  by  chance  absent  when  Alexander  called  for 
wine  before  supper,  the  under  butler,  knowing  nothing  of  the 
contrivance,  or  thinking  this  marked  wine  the  most  precious, 
served  it  to  the  pope  and  his  son.  These  circumstances  are  nei- 
ther in  themselves  very  probable,  nor  does  it  appear  how-,  if 
true,  they  should  come  to  be  publicly  known.  It  is  not  likely 
that  a  man  so  politic  as  pope  Alexander  should,  at  the  time  he 
had  formed  great  projects,  for  the  execution  of  which  it  was  ne- 
cessary to  gain  as  many  friends  as  possible,  commit  a  crime 
which  could  not  fail  to  be  strongly  suspected,  and  to  raise  the 
utmost  odium  against  him.  That  fancy  and  fiction  were  busy  on 
the  occasion,  appears  from  a  marvellous  tale  related  by  Tomasi, 
that  the  pope,  who  had  constantly  borne  about  him  the  holy  sa- 
crament in  a  gold  box  (an  astrologer  having  told  him  that  it  would 
preserve  his  lite  from  all  dangers,)  discovered  on  coming  to  the 
villa  that  he  had  left  it  at  home,  and  sent  in  all  haste  for  it,  but 
had  swallowed  the  fatal  draught  before  the  messenger  returned. 
This  messenger,  too,  who  was  a  cardinal,  is  said  to  have  seen  in 
his  holiness's  chamber  a  vision,  representing  a  dead  pope  extend- 
ed on  a  catafalc.  Every  judicious  inquirer  knows  how  much  a 
mixture  of  incredible  matter  tends  to  discredit  the  other  cir- 
cumstances of  a  narration.  But  in  my  opinion  the  strongest 
ground  of  unbelief  in  this  story  is,  that  the  death  may  be  ac- 
counted for  another  way,  and  that  the  incidents  of  the  disease 


*  The  pope's  chamberlain,  Burchard,  says,  that  he  was  attacked  by  a  fever  on 
the  12th,  was  let  blood  on  the  16th,  when  the  disorder  appeared  to  become  a  (er 
tian,  and  that  he  died  on  the  18th.  The  difference  of  date  is  probafcly  owing-  to  :, 
different  reckoning  of  style. 


392  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

do  not  correspond  with  the  supposition  of  poison.  In  the  un- 
wholesome climate  of  Rome,  the  sudden  cooling  of  the  body  at 
the  close  of  a  hot  day  by  a  large  draught  of  cold  liquor,  is  surely 
a  very  probable  cause  of  an  acute  disease  :  and  it  appears,  both 
from  the  express  words  of  the  writer,  and  from  the  treatment, 
that  this  disease  was  fever.  The  supposed  poison,  resembling 
sugar,  was  doubtless  a  preparation  of  arsenic;  but  its  effects  are 
not  to  excite  fever,  nor  would  bleeding  be  thought  of  as  a  reme- 
dy. If  it  were  possible  that  any  death  of  Alexander  VI.  should 
not  be  attributed  to  poison,  the  circumstances  of  this  would  seem 
as  little  suspicious  as  any  mode  in  which  he  could  die.  It  is 
true,  the  concomitant  illness  of  his  son  renders  the  fact  more 
singular ;  but  as  the  same  natural  cause  operated  on  both,  it  is 
reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  effects  would  be  similar.* 


*  P.  S.  Since  this  paper  was  written,  I  find  from  Mr.  Roscoe's  Life  of  Pope  Leo 
X.,  that  Muratori  has  produced  many  authorities  to  refute  the  notion  that  Alexan- 
der VI.  died  of  poison.  The  note  from  Burchard  is  transcribed  from  that  valuable 
work. 


A  WORD  FOR  PHILOSOPHY. 


UNFORTUNATE  Philosophy  !  not  only  to  have  retained  the 
enmity  of  all  her  old  foes,  the  tyrants  and  deceivers  of  mankind; 
but  to  have  incurred  the  reproaches  of  many  who  in  better  days 
were  well  pleased  to  be  regarded  as  her  friends  and  coadjutors  ! 
Perhaps,  however,  the  prejudice  conceived  against  her  is  begin- 
ning to  subside  ;  at  least,  an  inquiry  how  far  the  imputations  un- 
der which  she  has  laboured  have  been  merited,  may  at  this  time 
hope  for  a  patient  hearing. 

Philosophy  has  been  accused  of  contributing  to  the  subver- 
sion of  every  thing  sacred  and  venerable  among  men,  of  vilify- 
ing authority,  insulting  dignities,  unsettling  established  customs 
and  opinions,  and  substituting  her  own  crudities  and  fallacies  to 
the  results  of  long  experience.  I  have  no  doubt  that  her  real 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  393 

influence  has  been  greatly  exaggerated,  and  that  the  bad  pas- 
sions of  mankind  have  been  the  true  causes  of  the  deplorable 
evils  which  the  world  has  lately  witnessed  :  but  admitting  that 
Philosophy  has  had  her  share  in  the  work  of  destruction,  let  us 
calmly  consider  what  were  the  things  against  which  her  batte- 
ries were  erected. 

Politics  and  religion,  the  two  master  springs  of  human  affairs, 
have  both  been  touched  by  Philosophy,  and,  it  must  be  acknow- 
ledged, with  a  free  hand.  She  has  been  guilty,  too,  of  what  many 
seem  to  regard  as  an  unpardonable  offence — resorting  to  first 
principles  in  order  to  justify  her  attacks  upon  existing  systems, 
and  lay  a  foundation  for  proposed  improvements.  Thus,  in  the 
science  of  politics  (to  begin  with  that  department)  she  has  boldly 
assumed  that  men  come  into  the  world  with  rights — that  the 
maintenance  of  these  rights  ought  to  be  the  great  object  of  social 
institutions — that  government  was  intended  for  the  good  of  the 
whole,  not  the  emolument  of  the  few — that  legitimate  authority 
can  have  no  other  basis  than  general  consent,  for  that  force  can 
never  constitute  right — that  civil  distinctions,  originating  from 
the  agreement  of  society,  always  remain  within  the  determina- 
tion of  society — and  that  laws,  in  order  to  be  just,  must  bear 
equally  upon  all. 

These  principles  have  doubtless  borne  a  hostile  aspect  towards 
the  greater  part  of  existing  governments,  which  have  supported 
themselves  upon  maxims  so  much  the  reverse;  but  has  Philoso- 
phy urged  the  demolition  of  all  such  governments  ?  Certainly 
not,  unless  she  is  identified  with  Fanaticism.  It  has  been  her 
invariable  method  first  to  recommend  to  the  usurpers  of  undue 
authority  to  repair  their  wrongs  by  gradual  concessions ;  and 
secondly,  to  the  sufferers  under  tyranny,  to  state  their  grievances 
in  a  quiet  way,  and  patiently,  though  firmly,  to  expect  redress. 
This  she  has  done  as  the  decided  friend  of  peace;  for  Philosophy 
(and  Philosophy  alone")  has  been  incessantly  employed  in  lifting 
up  her  voice  against  war,  that  monstrous  aggregate  of  all  the 
evils,  natural  and  moral,  that  conspire  against  human  happiness. 
The  works  of  all  the  writers,  ancient  and  modern,  who  have  me- 
rited the  title  of  philosophers,  may  be  confidently  appealed  to 
for  their  strenuous  endeavours  to  correct  the  false  opinions  of 
men  with  respect  to  the  glory  of  warriors  and  conquerors,  and 
to  inculcate  the  superior  claims  to  admiration  and  gratitudeari- 
sing  from  the  successful  culture  of  the  beneficent  arts. 
3D 


394  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Had,  then,  the  dictates  of  Philosophy  been  equally  listened  to 
by  the;  governors  and  governed,  reforms  might  have  been  effect- 
ed by  mutual  agreement  to  the  advantage  of  both,  and  a  progress 
have  been  made  towards  that  melioration  of  the  state  of  man- 
kind, which  a  philanthropist  can  never  cease  to  have  in  view 
amidst  all  his  disappointments.  That  such  expectations  have 
failed  through  the  predominance  of  the  selfish  principle,  com- 
bined with  the  impetuous  and  ungovernable  character  of  a  par- 
ticular nation,  is  not  the  fault  of  Philosophy.  She  held  up  a 
torch  to  point  out  the  safest  path  to  a  necessary  reformation,  but 
incendiaries  snatched  it  from  her  for  the  purposes  of  mischief. 
It  is  acknowledged  that  some  of  the  evil  proceeded  from  the 
fanaticism  of  her  honest  but  deluded  votaries ;  but  much  more 
from  those  who  disclaimed  all  connection  with  her.  The  most 
sanguinary  tyrant  of  the  French  revolution  was  notoriously  the 
foe  to  all  mental  cultivation,  and  obliterated  the  precepts  of  phi- 
losophy in  the  blood  of  its  professors.  And  no  one  can  suspect 
the  man  who  now  aims  at  uniting  all  Europe  in  the  fetters  of  a 
military  despotism,  of  an  inclination  to  promote  liberal  discus- 
sions on  the  rights  of  man  and  the  foundation  of  government.  In 
point  of  fact,  it  appears  that  the  sole  European  power  that  stea- 
dily resists  the  present  tendency  to  an  universal  barbarism  of 
civil  polity,  is  that  which  is  most  enlightened  by  free  investiga- 
tion, and  in  which  alone  Philosophy  at  this  time  possesses  a  pen 
and  a  tongue.* 

Whith  respect,  therefore,  to  the  political  system  of  the  world, 
Philosophy  (I  mean  of  that  kind  which  was  chiefly  prevalent  in 
the  latter  half  of  the  eighteenth  century)  may  stand  acquitted 
of  any  thing  inimical  to  the  true  interest  of  mankind  ;  and  what- 
ever improvements  took  place  in  the  administration  of  the  con- 
tinental governments  of  Europe  during  that  period  may  fairly  be 
ascribed  to  her  influence.  She  promoted  the  enfranchisement 
of  slaves  and  vassals,  the  relief  of  the  lower  orders  from  arbitra- 
ry and  burthensome  requisitions,  the  liberation  of  internal  com- 
merce from  impolitic  restrictions,  the  encouragement  of  every 
species  of  useful  industry,  the  melioration  of  laws,  the  abolition 


•  This  is  said  not  with  regard  to  all  (he  acts  of  its  occasional  administrations,  but 
to  that  public  voice  which,  through  the  medium  of  a  free  press,  pronounces  upon 
the  principles  and  conduct,  as  well  of  its  own  government,  as  of  those  of  other 
nations. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  395 

of  cruel  punishments  and  of  judicial  torture,  and,  above  all,  reli- 
gious toleration — which  leads  me  to  the  second  point,  namely, 
the  conduct  of  Philosophy  with  respect  to  religion. 

Here,  again,  it  is  proper  to  begin  with  inquiring  what  it  was 
that  Philosophy  actually  opposed  under  the  appellation  of  reli- 
gion ;  for  nothing  can  be  more  unfair  than  to  draw  a  picture  of 
religion  as  it  has  existed  only  in  a  comparatively  few  philoso- 
phical minds,  and  then  to  display  it  as  the  object  against  which 
Philosophy  has  aimed  her  shafts.  A  system  of  faith,  the  sole  es- 
sentials of  which  should  be  a  belief  in  the  existence  of  a  Supreme 
Being  of  infinite  perfections,  the  moral  governor  and  judge  of 
mankind,  and  of  a  future  state  of  rewards  and  punishments, 
would,  I  am  persuaded,  command  the  respect  of  every  genuine 
philanthropist,  who  would  rejoice  in  such  a  powerful  support  to 
morality,  and  such  a  consolation  under  the  unavoidable  evils  of 
life,  and  prize  it  the  more  for  the  sanction  of  revelation.  But 
where  has  national  religion  appeared  under  this  simple  aspect? 
Certainly  not  in  those  countries  in  which  philosophers  have  been 
its  adversaries. 

There  cannot  be  a  more  copious  source  of  error  than  to  con- 
found under  a  common  name,  on  account  of  an  agreement  in  cer- 
tain particulars,  things  in  their  nature  essentially  different.  To 
instance  in  the  different  sects  which  bear  the  general  title  of 
Christian — though  all  referring  to  the  same  primary  authority,  it 
is  scarcely  possible  to  conceive  of  greater  variations  than  subsist 
among  them,  both  with  relation  to  each  other,  and  to  the  doc- 
trines of  their  common  founder.  Accuracy,  therefore,  requires 
that  in  speaking  of  them  they  should  be  specifically  denominated, 
and  not  be  grouped  under  a  generical  appellative.  Thus  it  is  right 
to  say,  the  religion  of  Pome,  the  religion  of  Luther,  the  religion  of 
Calvin,  and  the  like  ;  for  the  religion  of  Christ,  will  convey  but 
a  very  inadequate  idea  of  their  several  characters  and  tenets. 
Let  us  then  see  what  that  Roman  religion  was  which  peculiarly 
excited  the  enmity  of  what  is  called  the  French  school  of  philo- 
sophy. 

It  was  a  system  which,  in  the  first  place,  demanded  the  renun- 
ciation of  all  right  of  private  judgment,  and  subjected  the  religi- 
ous opinions  and  practices  of  all  the  world  to  the  determination 
of  a  foreign  priest — which  took  from  men  the  direction  of  their 
own  consciences,  and  put  it  nto  the  hands  of  a  cast,  detached  in 
all  countries  from  their  feUow  subjects,  and  universally  conneo 


396  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

ted  by  peculiar  claims  and  interests — which  uniformly  discour- 
aged all  inquiries  and  discussions  tending,  however  remotely,  to 
invalidate  its  own  authority,  and  exacted  implicit  submission  in 
all  points  on  which  it  had  thought  fit  to  decide — which  taught 
doctrines  the  most  irreconcileable  to  reason  and  common  sense, 
and  enjoined  observances  the  most  trifling,  degrading,  and  bur- 
thensome.  It  was  a  system,  moreover,  radically  hostile  to  every 
other,  spurning  all  community  or  accommodation,  annexing  ex- 
travagant ideas  of  merit  to  proselytism,  and,  therefore,  when  al- 
lied to  power,  infallibly  leading  to  persecution  :  a  system,  the 
influence  of  which  was  traced  in  lines  of  blood  through  every  page 
of  modern  history.  Was  it  then  no  just  object  to  the  friends  of 
reason  and  humanity  to  loosen  the  hold  of  such  a  religion  upon, 
the  minds  of  men  ?  Was  it  not  a  necessary  preliminary  to  every 
attempt  for  introducing  substantial  improvements  in  the  coun- 
tries where  it  prevailed ;  and  if,  in  the  contest  with  a  mass  of 
opinion  so  powerfully  supported,  some  things  were  necessarily 
endangered  which  were  worth  preserving,  was  not  the  prize  ade- 
quate to  the  hazard  ? 

A  consistent  protestant  cannot,  certainly,  dispute  these  con- 
clusions; but  he  may  blame  philosophers  for  not  fairly  examin- 
ing Christianity  at  the  source,  and  adopting  it  in  such  a  form  as 
shall  approve  itself  to  a  rational  inquirer.  Before  he  does  this, 
however,  he  must  be  prepared  to  admit  that  an  inquiry  conduct- 
ed upon  such  a  principle  justifies  itself,  whatever  be  the  system 
in  which  it  settles.  He  must  renounce  all  anathematising  denun- 
ciations ;  disclaim  any  preference  due  to  a  particular  system  be- 
cause it  is  that  of  the  state ;  and  disavow  any  right  of  annexing 
penalties  and  privations  to  non-conformity  to  a  predominant  faith. 
Unless  he  agrees  to  these  preliminaries,  he  is  in  effect  no  more  a 
friend  to  free  inquiry  than  the  Romanist ;  and  when  he  urges 
examination,  it  is  only  upon  the  tacit  condition  that  its  result 
should  be  conversion  to  his  own  opinions.  The  philosopher  who 
has  thrown  oft' the  authority  of  a  pope  and  council  is  not  likely 
to  yield  to  that  of  Luther  or  Calvin,  a  convocation  or  a  synod. 

To  conclude — Philosophy,  understood  in  its  proper  sense  of 
"the  love  of  wisdom,"  or  of  truth  (which  is  the  same  thing,)  is 
the  only  principle  to  be  relied  on,  not  only  for  meliorating  the 
state  of  the  world,  but  for  preventing  a  relapse  to  barbarism.  If 
she  be  excluded  from  all  guidance  of  human  affairs,  in  whose 
hands  shall  it  be  placed  ? — in  those  of  Avarice,  of  Ambition,  of 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  S97 

Bigotry  ?  She  may  have  had  her  moments  of  delirium,  but  she 
is  essentially  the  votary  of  Reason,  and  possesses  within  herself 
the  power  of  correcting  her  own  errors.  Policy,  if  she  be  not 
called  in  as  a  counsellor,  degenerates  into  craft;  and  Religion, 
without  her  direction,  into  superstition.  They  who  are  afraid  of 
her  searching  spirit,  must  be  conscious  of  something  that  will  not 
bear  the  light  of  investigation.  They  are  foes  to  the  truth  be- 
cause "the  truth  is  not  in  them." 


ON  CANT. 


Canto  qu<K  solitus.  VIRG. 

THE  motto  prefixed  may  serve  as  a  kind  of  definition  of  my 
subject ;  for  cant  is,  in  reality,  an  accustomed  formula  of  words 
employed  on  certain  occasions — the  chant  or  cry  adopted  by  par- 
ties, sects  or  professions,  repeated  from  habit  or  imitation,  with- 
out any  other  design  in  the  speaker  than  that  of  saying  what  has 
been  usual  in  similar  circumstances.  The  beggar  in  the  street, 
who  addresses  passengers  with  "  Heaven  bless  your  Honour ! 
Health  and  prosperity  to  you,"  &c.  cannot  be  supposed  to  take 
any  real  interest  in  the  welfare  of  those  on  whom  he  bestows  his 
benedictions :  he  only  uses  the  cant  of  his  trade,  and  does  not 
expect  that  it  should  be  taken  for  more  than  it  is  worth.  The 
same  is  the  case  with  other  canters.  They  employ  habitual  forms 
of  speech,  through  a  sort  of  bienseance,  or  regard  to  decorum, 
which  the  inexperienced  may,  indeed,  if  they  please,  take  for 
earnest,  but  which  no  one  conversant  with  the  world  considers 
as  such. 

Cant,  therefore,  is  different  from  hypocrisy,  though,  perhaps, 
originating  from  it,  and  though  hypocrisy  generally  implies  a 
cant.  In  the  use  of  cant  there  is,  doubtless,  somewhat  of  an  in- 
tention to  appear  in  a  favourable  light  to  those  to  whom  it  is  ad- 
dressed ;  but  this  scarcely  amounts  to  a  serious  purpose  of  decep- 
tion, and  in  some  instances  is  totally  free  from  it.  Thus,  when 
in  the  cant  of  politeness  a  man  calls  himself  the  devoted  humble 
servant  of  another,  he  has  no  idea  of  being  understood  according 


398  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

to  the  literal  sense  of  these  words ;  he  only  wishes  to  be  regard- 
ed as  a  well  bred  man.  Real  hypocrisy  seldom  confines  itself 
to  cant.  On  the  contrary,  an  artful  hypocrite  will  studiously 
avoid  that  phraseology  which  common  use  has  rendered  unmean- 
ing, and  will  perhaps  seek  for  credit  by  affecting  a  blunt  disre- 
gard of  the  ordinary  forms  of  civility. 

The  variety  of  cants  is  as  great  as  that  of  the  different  condi- 
tions and  callings  of  men.  Some,  however,  stand  pre-eminent 
on  account  of  the  frequency  and  solemnity  with  which  they  are 
brought  before  the  public.  A  brief  notice  of  these,  with  their 
several  characteristics,  will  form  the  subject  of  the  present 
paper. 

Political  cant  is  one  of  the  most  noted  and  prominent  species; 
and  notwithstanding  the  daily  proofs  of  its  inanity,  it  still  ex- 
erts no  small  influence  over  the  minds  of  the  credulous  and  igno- 
rant. Each  party  in  a  state  has  its  own  appropriate  cant ;  and 
states  employ  a  cant  in  their  transactions  with  each  other,  which 
is  regarded  as  common  property.  The  public  good  is  a  common 
place  equally  belonging  to  all  these  cants,  though  variously  mo- 
dified according  to  circumstances  and  situations.  The  monarch 
laments  the  necessity  of  laying  additional  burdens  upon  his  dear 
subjects,  but  the  public  good  imperiously  demands  such  sacri- 
fices, which,  however,  he  hopes,  will  not  be  of  long  duration :  in 
the  mean  time  he  is  resolved  in  his  own  mind  not  to  abandon 
any  scheme  of  ambition  or  cupidity  in  which  he  is  engaged, 
whatever  his  dear  subjects  may  suffer.  These  patriotic  senti- 
ments are  re-echoed  in  addresses  from  the  people,  expressive  of 
the  highest  confidence  in  the  wisdom  and  benevolence  of  the 
royal  breast,  though  perhaps  at  the  same  time  associations  are 
forming  for  effecting  a  compulsory  change  of  measures.  In  these 
cases  the  language  on  each  side  passes  with  the  experienced 
only  as  words  of  course,  and  no  surprise  is  excited  on  finding 
not  the  least  correspondence  in  actions. 

The  cant  of  party  delights  to  dwell  on  general  terms.  Thus 
the  watch  word  with  one  is  the  constitution,  with  the  other  re- 
form,  each  knowing  that  by  interpretation  any  thing  or  nothing 
can  be  made  of  either  of  these  words.  A  very  common  cant  of 
the  party  in  power  is  to  express  a  confident  hope  of  unanimity, 
although  they  may  be  conscious  that  they  have  acquired  their 
stations  by  fomenting  as  much  as  possible  the  spirit  of  division. 
A  general  electton  is  the  period  at  which,  in  this  country,  cant 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  399 

is  most  triumphant,  filling  the  columns  of  every  newspaper,  and 
the  walls  of  every  empty  house.  Its  basis  is  the  shibboleth  of 
each  party,  combined  with  the  personal  protestations  of  the  in- 
dividual candidate.  Thus,  one  in  great  letters  parades  his  in- 
dependence  ;  another,  his  attachment  to  king  and  constitution  ; 
a  third,  his  zeal  for  the protestant  religion;  while  all  agree  in  prof- 
fering the  most  active  and  disinterested  services  to  their  worthy 
constituents.  In  many  of  these  cases,  the  mockery  of  profession 
is  so  gross,  that  one  might  suppose  the  writers  had  adopted  the 
line  of  Horace, 

Virginibus  puerisque  canto. 

But  the  most  dignified  display  of  political  cant  is  in  the  manifestos 
and  memorials  issued  from  belligerent  courts.  The  most  com- 
prehensive philanthropy,  the  strictest  adherence  to  good  faith  and 
the  principles  of  public  justice,  and  the  most  laudable  spirit  of 
moderation  are  assumed  by  all  in  turn,  who  avow  no  other  wish 
than  to  stop  the  effusion  of  blood  and  restore  the  blessings  of 
peace  to  mankind.  The  late  Catherine  of  Russia  was  the  most 
conspicuous  canter  of  her  time,  and  was  distinguished  for  the 
benevolence  of  her  sentiments,  and  her  frequent  pious  appeals  to 
heaven  for  the  sincerity  of  her  declarations.  At  present  the  em- 
peror Napoleon  seems  to  have  taken  her  place,  who,  good  man! 
would  live  in  perfect  peace  and  quiet,  had  he  not  the  misfortune 
of  being  surrounded  with  quarrelsome  neighbours.  It  must,  how- 
ever be  acknowledged,  that  he  is  not  the  only  imperial  or  royal 
proficient  in  this  way. 

A  particular  species  of  the  cant  of  sovereigns  is  that  of  prefa- 
cing all  their  severe  and  tyrannical  acts  with  self-applied  epithets 
of  justice  and  humanity.  Thus,  when  the  patriot  Patkul  was  so 
cruelly  sacrificed  to  the  vengeance  of  Charles  XII.  of  Sweden, 
an  officer  read  the  sentence  in  the  following  terms  :  "  It  is  here- 
by made  known  to  be  the  express  order  of  his  majesty,  our  most 
merciful  sovereign,  that  this  man,  who  is  a  traitor  to  his  country, 
be  broken  upon  the  wheel  and  quartered/'  &c.  "  What  mercy!" 
exclaimed  the  poor  criminal.  In  like  manner,  those  theologians 
who  maintain  that  the  great  majority  of  mankind  were  created 
for  the  deliberate  purpose  of  being  consigned  to  everlasting  tor- 
ments, usually  couple  their  horrid  doctrine  with  solemn  asser- 
tions of  the  infinite  goodness  of  the  Creator.  The  humane  court 
of  Inquisition  is  remarkable  for  a  cant  of  this  kind,  and  it  never 


400  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

submits  a  culprit  to  the  torture  without  expressing  the  tenderest 
concern  for  his  temporal  and  eternal  welfare. 

The  cant  of  religion  has,  if  possible,  played  a  greater  part  on 
the  theatre  of  the  world  than  that  of  politics ;  indeed,  with  a  large 
proportion  of  mankind,  religion  has  always  been  nothing  more 
than  a  cant.  This  may  be  safely  predicated  ot  all  those  who, 
while  they  have  it  continually  in  their  mouths,  are  never  sway- 
ed by  its  precepts  in  any  action  of  their  lives  in  which  their 
worldly  interest  is  concerned.  No  sect  has  a  right  to  reproach 
another  on  this  head  :  they  are  all 

Et  cantare  pares,  et  respondere  parati. 

If  powerful  establishments  seem  on  one  hand  to  have,  less  motive 
for  canting  than  their  weaker  rivals,  as  being  less  dependent  on 
public  opinion  ;  on  the  other,  the  consciousness  of  exciting  envy 
by  their  opulence  and  high  pretentions  operates  to  inspire  them 
with  the  cant  of  humility  and  moderation.  The  haughtiest  priest 
that  (he  world  ever  saw  assumed  the  title  of"  the  servant  of  the 
servants  of  God,''  at  a  time  when  he  expected  that  kings  and 
emperors  should  kiss  his  toe  and  hold  his  stirrup.  In  countries 
where  the  civil  authority  has  so  far  prevailed  over  the  ecclesias- 
tical as  to  enforce  a  political  toleration  of  different  religions,  it 
is  curious  to  remark  how  the  predominant  sect  has  accommodat- 
ed a  cant  to  its  situation.  "  God  forbid  that  they  should  think 
of  forcing  men's  consciences,  or  denying  to  any  of  their  brethren 
the  right  of  private  judgment  !'*  All  who  dissent  from  them  are 
to  be  sure,  in  the  wrong,  and  their  blindness  and  perversity  are 
to  be  lamented;  but  they  disclaim  all  methods  of  bringing  back 
the  stray  sheep  into  the  fold,  except  those  of  lenity  and  persua- 
sion. Meantime  they  do  not  hesitate  to  hold  up  the  separatists 
to  the  hatred  and  reproach  of  their  fellow  subjects  as  guilty  of 
the  heinous  sin  of  schism ;  and  they  strenuously  support  every 
unjust  and  impolitic  restriction  which  ancient  prejudice  has  im- 
posed upon  them.  Such  a  church  boasts  of  being  tolerant,  that 
is,  of  enduring  what  it  cannot  prevent.  It  may  surely  be  affirm- 
ed that  toleration  in  this  sense  is  a  mere  cant  word. 

Religious  cant  displays  itself  in  nothing  more  than  in  the  prac- 
tice of  calling  in  Providence  on  all  occasions.  I  am  sufficiently 
aware  that  a  real  belief  of  providential  interferences  in  cases  of 
importance  has  pervaded  all  faiths,  nor  do  I  mean  to  censure  the 
pious  application  of  it,  whatever  may  be  my  opinion  of  the  just- 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  401 

ness  of  such  application.  But  when  Te  Deum  is  ordered  to  be 
sung  by  both  parties  after  a  dubious  battle,  manifestly  for  the 
purpose  of  raising  the  spirits  of  a  desponding  people  ;  or  when 
the  most  trivial  incidents  are  construed  into  proofs  of  the 
divine  favour  by  an  itinerant  fanatic ;  who  does  not  recognise 
the  cant  of  hypocrisy  ?  In  the  time  of  Cromwell,  when  the 
language  of  piety  was  that  of  every  department  in  the  state, 
we  may  be  well  assured  that  in  many  cases  it  was  nothing  more 
than  a  cant.  No  where  did  it  prevail  more  than  in  the  army. 
A  commander,  who  from  good  intelligence  had  marched  a  troop 
of  horse  to  surprise  the  enemy's  quarters,  in  his  despatches  pre- 
tended to  have  had  an  answer  to  his  prayers  instigating  him  to 
the  attempt.  A  council  of  war  always  began  business  with  seek- 
ing the  Lord  for  direction,  while  the  general  had  in  his  pocket 
the  plan  of  operations  which  he  had  concerted  with  his  confiden- 
tial officers.  The  Scotch  preachers  who  compelled  old  Leven 
to  quit  his  strong  post  at  Dunbar  in  the  confidence  of  a  victory 
promised  to  their  prayers,  were  honest  enthusiasts  ;  but  Crom- 
well, when  he  exclaimed,  at  the  enemy's  approach,  "  The  Lord 
has  delivered  them  into  our  hands,"  well  knew  that  he  had  long 
been  employing  all  his  artifice  to  bring  them  to  this  resolution. 

Moral  cant,  at  least  till  lately,  was  become  more  fashionable 
in  this  country  than  religious  cant;  and  to  this  head  I  fear  must 
be  referred  much  of  the  pure  and  refined  sentiment  with  which 
the  public  are  treated  on  various  occasions.  Thus,  the  solemn 
and  pathetic  lectures  on  morality  which  are  delivered  at  the  bar 
in  trials  of  crim.  con.,  or  for  other  flagrant  violations  of  the  laws 
of  virtue,  can  scarcely  avoid  this  designation,  when  it  is  known 
that  a  prior  fee  would  have  secured  all  the  speaker's  eloquence 
to  the  opposite  party.  I  dare  not  affirm  that  the  zeal  manifest- 
ed in  the  senate  against  corruption  and  public  abuses  is  a  cant ; 
although,  when  we  find  the  same  orators  when  in  place  entirely 
forgetting  their  former  language,  and  defending  the  very  enor- 
mities against  which  they  had  so  loudly  declaimed,  we  must  con- 
clude either  that  some  extraordinary  process  of  conviction  has 
suddenly  taken  place  in  their  minds,  or  that  they  were  merely 
before  reciting  a  part  in  the  drama  of  opposition.  The  cant  of 
sentimentality,  which  is  a  kind  of  sickly  and  overstrained  mora- 
lity, may  be  mentioned  under  this  head.  Its  most  copious  source 
is  in  plays  and  novels.  Sterne  was  one  of  those  who  dealt  most 
largely  in  this  commodity  and  brought  it  into  fashion.  He  had 
3E 


402  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

a  crowd  of  imitators,  who,  as  usual,  exaggerated  their  original, 
and  carried  the  affectation  of  fine  feeling  to  the  borders  of  bur- 
lesque. On  tne  stage  the  comedies  termed  sentimental  gave  the 
tone,  which  is  still  followed  by  our  modern  dramatists,  but  with 
the  addition  of  caricature,  and  a  most  unnatural  combination  of 
qualities,  so  that  nothing  is  now  more  common  among  the  dra- 
matis personse  than  generous  sharpers  and  benevolent  banditti' 
The  public  kindly  applauds  all  the  cant  put  into  the  mouths  of 
these  worthies,  while  the  authors  laugh  and  fill  their  pockets. 

Of  other  cants,  that  of  authorship  is  not  one  of  the  least  con- 
spicuous. A  versifier,  who  with  infinite  pains  has  strung  toge- 
ther a  parcel  of  rhymes,  which,  after  every  preliminary  of  ob- 
lique puffing,  he  gives  to  the  public,  affects  to  regard  his  per- 
formances as  mere  trifles,  composed  for  his  private  amusement, 
and  without  the  most  distant  view  to  fame.  "  Nos  heec  novimus 
esse  nihil."  "  His  indulgent  friends  have  been  pleased  to  think 
them  worthy  of  the  light,  otherwise  he  should  have  condemned 
them  to  merited  obscurity.  Some  pieces,  indeed,  had  already 
got  into  print  without  his  knowledge,  and  his  principal  object  is, 
to  give  in  a  more  correct  form  what  he  could  not  recall." 

Even  Pope  was  not  above  this  kind  of  cant.  Though  more  a 
poet  by  profession  than  most  of  the  versifying  tribe,  one  of  his 
favourite  topics  in  his  letters,  as  Dr.  Johnson  observes,  is  an  af- 
fected disparagement  of  his  own  poetry.  He  writes,  he  says3 
"  when  he  has  just  nothing  else  to  do."  He  constantly  pretends 
the  utmost  insensibility  to  censure  and  criticism,  and  yet  com- 
posed the  Dunciad.  The  same  indifference  is  affected  at  the 
present  day  by  many,  who  are  in  agonies  on  opening  a  review. 
As  to  the  cant  of  pretending  to  write  for  the  public  good,  since 
it  has  been  assumed  by  every  compiler  who  works  by  the  sheet 
with  the  aid  of  paste  and  scissars,  creditable  authors  have  scarcely 
ventured  to  use  it. 

Criticism  itself  has  its  cant,  of  which  one  of  the  most  provok- 
ing instances  to  a  poor  condemned  author  is  the  affected  excla- 
mation of  hardship  and  misery  on  the  part  of  the  critic,  in  being 
obliged  to  drudge  through  the  wretched  stuff  that  every  month 
obtrudes  upon  the  public,  though  without  such  stuff  our  periodi- 
cal censors  would  not  have  an  existence.  The  royal  pronoun  we, 
the  fiction  of  a  board  of  greybeards  sitting  in  solemn  judgment 
round  a  table,  and  the  assumed  dignity  of  an  office,  frequently 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  403 

the  self-creation  of  conceit  and  inexperience,  are  other  examples 
of  the  cant  belonging  to  the  critical  trade. 

There  is  no  species  of  cant  so  strongly  marked  by  a  jargon  of 
peculiar  phraseology  as  that  of  connoisseurship  in  the  fine  arts. 
The  connoisseur's  vocabulary  is  besprinkled  with  a  number  of 
indefinite  and  metaphorical  terms,  which  convey  no  precise  ideas 
to  proficients  themselves,  who  are  found  widely  to  differ  in  their 
application  of  them  to  different  performances.  Their  chief  pur- 
pose seems  to  be  to  furnish  with  a  set  of  knowing  phrases  those 
who  think  themselves  obliged  to  talk  about  a  thing,  whether  they 
have  any  clear  conceptions  of  it  or  not. 

I  shall  not  lengthen  this  paper  by  enumerating  the  several 
kinds  of  professional  cant,  of  which  the  essence  is  a  speciousness 
and  pretence  originally  adopted  for  the  purpose  of  deception,  but 
continued  through  habit  and  established  form,  like  the  lawyer's 
wig  and  the  clergyman's  cassock.  This  may  have  its  use  in  the 
common  intercourse  of  society,  yet  it  will  always  be  disdained 
by  commanding  talents  and  high-spirited  integrity. 


ON  MOTTOES. 


THE  application  of  passages  from  eminent  authors,  by  way  of 
authority,  illustration  or  ornament,  has  been  a  very  ancient  prac- 
tice, and  in  modern  times  has  become  a  custom  which,  like  all 
prevalent  customs,  has  often  deviated  into  excess.  At  the  revi- 
val of  literature,  when  it  was  the  chief  object  with  men  of  letters 
'to  display  the  extent  of  their  reading,  scarcely  any  work  appear- 
ed without  a  multiplicity  of  decoration  of  this  kind.  Not  a  pam- 
phlet was  published  without  its  mottoes  in  Greek  and  Latin,  and 
not  a  sentiment,  however  trivial,  was  hazarded  without  confir- 
mation by  parallel  sentences  from  the  ancients.  The  pedantry 
of  this  practice  at  length  became  an  object  of  ridicule.  It  is 
certain,  however,  that  the  moderate  use  of  quotation,  when  di- 
rected by  judgment  and  taste,  has  been  at  all  times  agreeable  to 
cultivated  readers,  who  have  received  from  it  the  double  plea- 
sure of  unexpectedly  meeting  with  passages  which  they  have  ad- 


404  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

mired  in  their  proper  places,  and  of  seeing  them  happily  intro- 
duced in  new  connections. 

It  is  not  my  intention  in  the  present  paper  to  speak  gene- 
rally of  quotations,  but  only  of  that  species  of  them  which  are  pe- 
culiarly called  mottoes.  These  are  short  sentences,  either  pre- 
fixed to  books,  or  inscribed  on  portraits,  coats  of  arms,  edifices, 
devices,  and  the  like,  which  serve  as  heads  or  titles  indicating 
the  essential  character,  object  or  design.  The  French  have  a 
happy  term  to  express  the  motto  to  a  device  or  emblem;  they 
call  it  Fame,  the  soul.  In  fact,  a  well  chosen  motto  contains  the 
spirit  or  essence  of  thing  to  which  it  is  applied. 

There  are  two  different  modes  of  application  of  these  quoted 
passages,  which  divide  them  into  two  distinct  classes.  In  the 
first  the  author's  words  are  taken  in  their  proper  sense;  in  the 
second,  they  are  allusively  employed,  and  transferred  to  a  dif- 
ferent meaning.  Of  the  first,  the  excellence  consists  in  the  ner- 
vous and  pointed  expression  of  the  thought  which  it  is  intended 
to  enforce  :  the  beauty  of  the  second  depends  upon  starting  some 
unexpected  but  exact  resemblance,  which  surprises  by  the  inge- 
nuity of  the  application.  Examples  shall  be  given  to  illustrate 
this  distinction,  which  it  is  hoped,  may  afford  some  entertain- 
ment to  the  classical  reader,  whatever  be  thought  of  the  intro- 
ductory matter.  Those  of  the  first  class  will  take  the  lead. 

A  variety  of  mottoes  have  been  inscribed  on  clocks  and  sun- 
dials, with  the  intention  of  warning  the  spectator  of  the  unheed- 
ed lapse  of  time.  I  recollect  none  superior  in  energy  to  the  two 
following,  afforded  by  Seneca's  Epistles.  "  Inscii  rapimur." 
"Nisi  properamus,  relinquimur."  The  English  language  is  so 
inferior  in  conciseness  to  the  Latin,  that  no  adequate  version  can 
be  given ;  but  we  might  say,  "  Time  whirls  us  on  unfelt."  "  Haste, 
or  you  stay  behind." 

The  same  author  gives  in  three  words  what  would  serve  for  a* 
striking  sentence  on  a  tomb  stone,  "  Abstulit,  sed  dedit :"  the 
words  are  similar  to  those  of  Job,  "  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord 
hath  taken  away,"  which  is  simply  pious  resignation ;  but  Sene- 
ca, who  applies  them  to  Fortune,  has  a  different  meaning,  "  She 
has  taken  away,  but  she  first  gave"— and  the  lesson  is,  "  Remem- 
ber that  you  have  enjoyed  what  you  now  lament  to  have  lost." 
By  the  substitution  of  Deity  to  Fortune,  it  would  become  pious 
as  well  as  philosophical. 

"What  Seneca  says  of  certain  frivolous  and  useless  modes  of 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  405 

sophistical  reasoning  in  his  time,  would  not  unaptly  apply  to  the 
modern  subtleties  of  metaphysicians:  "Nee  ignoranti  nocent, 
nee  scientem  juvant :"  "  Ignorance  of  them  does  no  harm,  and 
knowledge  no  good :"  which  is  not  quite  so  satirical  as  a  line  on 
logicians,  quoted  by  Guy  Patin, 

Gtns  ratione  furens,  et  mentem  pasta  chimceris. 

A  political  writer  meaning  to  reproach  a  nation  for  its  readi- 
ness to  plunge  into  war  upon  any  view  of  profit,  might  adopt  this 
sentence  from  Livy,  "  Maxime  omnium  belli  avida,  modo  prgeda 
aut  merces  esset.'*  On  the  other  hand,  he  might  apply  to  an  un- 
feeling despot,  who  had  involved  his  country  in  a  war  destruc- 
tive to  himself  and  his  subjects,  these  lines  from  Statins : 

Tu  merito :  ast  horum  miseret,  quos  sanguine  viles 
Conjugibus  natisque  infanda  ad  prselia  raptos 
Projicis  excidio,  bone  rex  ! 

Unpitied  them  !  but  these  deserve  a  tear, 

Who,  with  their  wives  and  babes,  a  race  despised, 

By  thee  are  thrust  to  slaughter — best  of  kings  ! 

An  incapable  minister,  whose  presumption  has  led  him  to  as- 
sume the  direction  of  the  state  in  a  time  of  danger,  which  is  ten- 
fold augmented  by  his  own  rashness  and  ignorance,  could  not  be 
more  forcibly  imaged  than  in  the  following  simile  applied  by  Si 
lius  Italicus  to  the  consul  Flaminius  in  the  second  Punic  war : 

Ut  pelagi  rudis,  et  pontem  tractare  per  artem 
Nescius,  accepit  miserse  si  jura  carinse 
Yentorum  tenet  ipse  vicem,  cunctisque  procellis 
Dat  jactare  ratem  ;  fertur  vaga  gurgite  puppis, 
Ipsius  in  scopulos  dextra  impellente  magtstri. 

As  he  who  takes  a  hapless  vessel's  helm, 
New  to  the  sea,  nor  taught  the  pilot's  art, 
Does  the  storm's  office,  gives  the  bark  a  sport 
To  every  adverse  gale  ;  wide  o'er  the  main 
She  flies,  his  own  rash  hand  amid  the  rocks 
Steering  her  fatal  course. 

It  would  be  an  elegant  compliment  to  apply  to  a  master  of 
one  of  our  great  schools  the  lines  which  Statius  in  his  Sylvse  ad- 
dresses to  a  person  of  the  same  profession. 

Et  nunc  ex  illo  forsan  grege  gentibus  alter 
Jura  datEois,  alter  compescit  Iberos ; 


406  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Hi  tlites  Asvse       pnu-s,  I,    PK  >'icn  fisenant, 
Hi  fora  pacitu-is  Mi>e»<).ini  tase.bus,  illi 
Castra  pia  statione  renent :  tu  laudis  origo. 

And  now,  perchance,  amid  the  studious  flock, 
One  to  the  East  gives  law,  one  rul«  s  th-   West ; 
These  the  rich  Asian  trib-  s,  the  Poni.c  Uu  se 
O'erawe  ;  in  peaceful  courts  tht  ir  wholesome  sway 
These  exercise,  while  those  in  watchful  camps 
Their  sacred  country  guard — thine  all  their  praise  ! 

These  examples,  which,  perhaps,  will  have  the  merit  of  novel- 
ty to  most  readers,  may  suffice  for  the  first  class  of  mottoes. 
Of  the  second,  the  following  instances  may  be  given  : 

There  is  not,  1  think,  in  all  Shakespear  a  passage  of  greater 
poetical  beauty  than  that  in  which  Prospero  describes  the  gra- 
dual return  of  reason  in  those  who  had  been  bewildered  by  his 
magic.  How  finely  would  it  apply  to  the  progress  of  light  and 
knowledge  succeeding  an  age  of  ignorance  and  superstition  ! 

The  charm  dissolves  apace  ; 
And  as  the  morning  steals  upon  the  night, 
Melting  the  darkness  ;  so  their  rising  senses 
Begin  to  chase  the  ignorant  fumes  that  mantle 
Their  clearer  reason. 

A  modest  writer  in  Natural  History  or  Natural  Philosophy 
might  adopt  for  his  motto  the  reply  of  a  soothsayer  in  Antony 
and  Cleopatra,  when  questioned  concerning  his  knowledge, 

In  Nature's  infinite  book  of  secresy 
A  little  I  can  read. 

I  once  saw  in  an  edition  of  Pope's  works  a  line  from  Ovid 
happily  prefixed  in  manuscript  to  the  epistle  of  Eloisa  to  Abe- 
lard.  It  is  taken  from  the  Fasti,  where  the  poet  describes  the 
conflagration  of  the  temple  of  Vesta : 

Mistaque  crat  flammse  flamma  profana  pice  : 
Mixed  with  a  holy  flame,  a  flame  profane. 

The  same  hand,  to  a  list  of  orders  of  knighthood  had  written, 
from  Banquo's  remark  on  the  witches  in  Macbeth, 

The  earth  h:is  hubbies  as  the  water  hath, 
And  these  ;«re  of  them. 

The  cause  of  the  ascent  of  an  air-balloon  might  be  very  aptly 


MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES.  407 

expressed  in  the  words  which  Ovid  applies  to  the  vapor  that 
arose  from  the  body  of  Memnon  on  the  funeral  pile,  and  was 
changed  into  birds ; 

Levitas  sua  prsebuit  alas. 
Its  lightness  gave  it  wings  : 

and  the  aeronaut  himself  might  appropriate  the  words  of  Per- 
seus in  the  Metamorphosis,  when  descending  at  the  court  of 
Scythia  from  his  aerial  flight, 

VVni  IH-C  pnppr-  per  undas, 
Nee  pede  per  terras :  patmt  mihi  pervius  sether, 

Nor  cross  the  sea,  nnr  o'er  the  land  F  carae  ; 
My  open  path  was  through  the  yielding  sky. 

I  am  conscious  that  all  these  are  only  the  trifles  of  literature; 
but  they  are  agreeable  trifles,  and  afford  no  contemptible  exer- 
cise for  ingenuity ;  while  other  things,  equally  trifling,  only  ex- 
ercise industry.  One  of  the  most  distinguished  among  modern 
literary  societies  was  the  French  Academy  of  Inscriptions  and 
Belles  Lettres,  the  original  object  of  which  was  to  invent  devices 
and  suitable  inscriptions  for  commemorating  the  glories  of  the 
reign  of  Lous  XIV.  The  purpose  was  adulatory,  but  the  insti- 
tution gave  birth  to  many  ingenious  ideas.  That  the  discovery 
and  application  of  mottoes  is  no  trivial  task,  may  be  inferred 
from  the  paltry  quibbles  that  disgrace  the  arms  of  many  of  our 
nobility,  and  which  may,  indeed,  prove  the  antiquity  of  their  fa- 
milies, but  indicate  the  taste  of  a  barbarous  age.  I  am  not.  fond 
of  suggesting  new  places,  or  I  would  propose  that  some  ingeni- 
ous scholar  should  be  appointed  motto  master  to  the  Heralds' 
college.  The  many  parvenus  who  would  wish  to  wear  their 
blushing  honours  with  every  graceful  decoration,  might  provide 
a  competent  salary  for  such  an  office. 


APPENDIX, 


(A.  p.  28.) 
DESCRIPTIONS  OF  VEGETABLES 

FROM 

THE  ROMAN  POETS. 


IT  has  been  remarked  by  various  critics,  that  modern  poets 
have  in  general  been  much  inferior  to  the  ancient,  in  the  truth 
and  accuracy  of  their  descriptions  of  natural  objects.  The  ver- 
sifiers of  later  ages,  deriving  their  art  merely  from  imitation 
have  fallen  into  a  kind  of  established  phraseology  in  their  dic- 
tion, which,  while  it  cuts  off  all  novelty  of  imagery,  exposes  the 
the  writer  to  perpetual  mistakes,  from  the  application  of  epithets 
and  descriptions  according  to  memory,  or  the  rules  of  measure, 
rather  than  the  observation  of  nature.  Those,  on  the  other  hand, 
who  were  nearer  to  the  original  sources  of  poetical  ornament,  sel- 
dom fail  to  paint  objects  in  their  genuine  colours,  even  though 
they  may  be  unskilful  in  the  employment  and  disposition  of  them. 
Of  this  we  have  a  striking  instance  in  the  similes  of  Homer, 
which,  taken  separately,  are  always  just  and  lively  pictures, 
though  frequently  they  have  little  resemblance  to  the  object  to 
which  they  are  applied.  The  number  of  these  drawn  from  the 
vegetable  creation  is  very  small ;  while  Virgil  and  the  other  Ro- 
man poets,  probably  from  living  in  a  more  cultivated  state  of 
society,  seem  particularly  fond  of  introducing  trees  and  other 
plants  into  the  imagery  of  their  pieces.  From  a  peculiar  atten- 
tion to  this  subject,  I  became  so  struck  with  the  beauty  and  ac- 
curacy with  which  they  had  painted  some  of  my  favourite  objects, 
that  I  was  led  to  collect  the  passages,  and  to  form  from  them  a 
3F 


410  APPENDIX. 

set  of  connected  poetical  descriptions.     Some  of  these  it  is  mj 
intention  to  offer  to  the  reader. 

QUERCUS — THE  OAK. 

One  of  the  noblest  objects  in  the  rural  landscape,  and  a  fine 
image  for  comparison  on  various  heroical  occasions. 

The  height  of  the  oak  is  referred  to  by  Virgil  in  the  JEneid, 
where,  describing  the  appearance  of  the  Cyclopses  on  the  shore, 
he  says, 

quales  cum  vertice  celso 

Aerise  quercus  aut  coniferss  eyparissi 

Constiterunt,  sylva  alta  Jovis,  lucusve  Dianas. — JEn.  iii.  679. 

So  on  some  mountain  towers  the  lofty  grove 
Of  beauteous  Dian,  or  imperial  Jove  : 
The  aerial  pines  in  pointed  spires  from  far, 
Ov  spreading  oaks  majestic  nod  in  air. — PITT. 

And  probably  it  is  on  account  of  the  same  quality,  that  he  se- 
lects this  tree  in  particular  as  suffering  from  the  stroke  of  light 
ning. 

De  coelo  tactas  memini  prcedicere  quercus. — Eel.  i.  17. 

And  heaven's  quick  lightning  on  my  blasted  oak. 

WARTON. 

The  wide  spread  of  Us  branches  is  strongly  painted  by  the  same 
poet  in  the  following  passage  : 

Sicubi  magna  Jovis  antiquo  robore  quercus 

Ingentes  tendat  ramos. — Georg.  iii.  332. 

Where  some  tall  oak  uprears  his  aged  shades. — PITT. 

Ovid  on  the  same  account  calls  the  oak 

patula  Jovis  arbor. — Met.  i.  106. 

Jove's  far  extended  tree  ; 

an  epithet  lost  in  Dryden's  version,  whose  paraphrase  is, 

And  falling  acorns  furnish'd  out  a  feast. 

Catullus  compares  the  tossing  horns  of  the  Minatour  to  the 
agitated  arms  of  an  oak  : 

velut  in  summo  quatientem  brnchia  tauro 

Quercum. — CATUI.  Ixiii.  105. 


APPENDIX.  411 

Several  passages  in  the  poets  describe  the  hardness  of  its  wood. 
Thus  Ovid  in  the  long  string  of  similes  which  Polyphemus  ap- 
plies to  Galatea,  makes  him  call  her 

•  •      '         durior  nnnosa  quercu. — Met.  xiii.  799. 

—  far  more  stubborn  than  the  knotted  oak. — DRYDEN. 

And  Virgil  describes  the  operation  of  splitting  an  oak,  in  a  line 
that  cannot  be  read  without  a  degree  of  effort : 

Quadrifidam  quercum  cuneis  ut  forte  coactis 
Scindebat.— J£n.  vii.  509. 

Tyrrhus,  who  clove  a  tree  with  many  a  stroke, 
Left  the  huge  wedge  within  the  gaping  oak. — PITT. 

Its  power  of  resisting  the  fury  of  a  storm,  from  its  strength, 
and  the  depth  to  which  its  roots  penetrate,  is  nobly  represented 
in  the  following  simile : 

Veluti  annoso  validam  cum  robore  quercum 
Alpini  Borese,  nunc  hinc,  nunc  flatibus  illinc 
Eruere  inter  se  eertant :  it  stridor,  et  alte 
Consternunt  terram  concusso  stipite  frondes  ; 
Ipsa  hseret  scopulis  ;  et  quantum  vertice  ad  auras 
JEtherias,  tantum  radice  in  Tartara  tendit. — JEn,  iv.  441. 

As  o'er  th'  aerial  Alps  sublimely  spread, 
Some  aged  oak  uprears  his  reverend  head  ; 
This  way  and  that  the  furious  tempests  blow, 
And  lay  the  monarch  of  the  mountains  low  ; 
Th' imperial  plant,  though  nodding  at  the  sound, 
Though  all  his  scatter'd  honours  strow  the  ground  ; 
Safe  in  his  strength,  and  seated  on  the  rock, 
In  naked  majesty  defies  the  shock. 
High  as  the  head  shoots  towering  to  the  skies, 
So  deep  the  root  in  hell's  foundation  lies. — PITT. 

Ovid  seems  to  labour  to  equal  or  excel  the  grandeur  of  this 
description  by  a  picture  of  the  oak  in  peaceful  majesty,  distin- 
guished by  its  vast  bulk,  and  the  almost  divine  honours  which 
have  at  various  times  been  paid  to  it. 

Stabat  in  his  ingens  annoso  robore  quercus ; 
Una  nemus;  vittsemediam,  memoresquc  tabellse, 
Certaque  cingebant  voti  argumenta  poteutis. 
Ssepe  sub  hac  Drj  ades  testas  duxere  choroeas  : 
Ssepe  otiam,  manibus  nexisex  ordine,  trunci 
Circuiere  modum  :  mensuraque  roboris  ulnas 


412  APPENDIX, 

Qumque  ter  implebat :  necrion  et  coetera  tanto 
Sylva  sub  hac,  sylva  quanto  jacet  herba  sub  orani. 

Jlfef.viii.743. 

An  ancient  oak  in  the  dark  centre  stood, 

The  covert's  glory,  and  itself  a  wood  ; 

Garlands  embraced  its  shaft,  and  from  the  boughs 

Hung  (ablets,  monuments  of  prosperous  vows. 

In  the  cool  dusk  its  unpierced  verdure  spread, 

The  Dryads  oft  their  hallowed  dances  led  ; 

And  oft  when  round  their  guaging  arms  they  cast, 

Full  fifteen  ells  it  measured  in  the  waste ; 

Its  height  all  under  standards  did  surpass, 

As  they  aspired  above  the  humbler  grass. — DIIYDEST. 

The  bold  expression  "  una  nemus,"  itself  a  grove,  would  scarce- 
ly apply  to  any  other  European  tree,  and  is  therefore  equally  ap- 
propriate and  poetical. 

Lucan  has  given  a  picture  of  the  oak  at  a  different  period  ;  no 
longer  firm  and  stable,  but  decayed  with  age  and  ready  to  fall 
with  the  first  blast,  yet  still  appearing  great  and  venerable,  and 
forming  a  shade,  though  with  its  naked  branches.  Its  applica- 
tion as  a  simile  is  not  less  happy,  than  the  description  is  striking. 
It  is  made  an  emblem  of  Pompey  the  Great,  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  civil  war,  with  all  his  honours  still  about  him,  yet 
in  reality,  only  the  shadow  of  his  former  greatness. 

Exuvias  veteres  populi,  sacrataque  gestans 
Dona  ductim  ;  nee  jam  validis  radicibus  hzerens, 
Pondrre  fixa  suo  est;  nudosqur  per  ae'ra  ramos 
Effundens,  trunco,  non  frondibus,  efficit  umbram: 
Sed  quamvis  prime  nutet  casura  sub  Euro, 
Tot  circum  sylvse  firmo  se  robore  tollant, 
Sola  tamen  colitur. — Phars.  i.  37. 

So  in  the  field  with  Ceres'  bounty  spread, 
Uprearssome  mighty  oak  his  reverend  head  : 
Chaplets  and  sacred  gifts  his  boughs  adorn, 
And  spoils  of  war  by  mighty  heroes  worn. 
But  the  first  vigour  of  his  root  now  gone, 
He  stands  dependent  on  his  weight  alone  ; 
All  bare  his  naked  branches  arc  display'd, 
And  with  his  It- afless  trunk  he  forms  a  shade  : 
Yet  though  the  winds  his  ruin  daily  threat, 
As  every  blast  would  heave  him  from  his  seat ; 
Though  thousand  fairer  trees  the  field  supplies 
That  rich  in  youthful  verdure  round  him  rise  ; 
Fix'd  in  his  .mcient  state  he  yields  to  none, 
And  wears  the  honours  of  the  grove  alone. 


APPENDIX.  413 

The  martial  character  (as  it  may  be  termed)  of  this  tree,  pro- 
bably occasioned  it  to  be  used  as  the  basis  for  trophies ;  the  cap- 
tured arms  of  the  foe  being  hung  on  an  oaken  trunk.  Thus 
./Eneas  raises  a  trophy  of  the  arms  of  Mezentius  in  honour  of  the 
God  of  War: 

Ingentem  qnercumdecisis  undique  ramis 
Constituit  tumulo. — JEm.  xi.  5. 

And  bared  an  oak  of  all  her  verdant  boughs. — PITT. 

The  use  of  the  fruit  of  the  oak  as  an  article  of  food  in  the 
early  ages  of  the  world  is  alluded  to  in  almost  innumerable  pas- 
sages of  the  poets.  There  were  several  kinds  of  glandes,  but 
those  ot  the  oak,  by  us  termed  acorns,  were  preferred  for  the 
use  of  man.  This  we  learn  from  Pliny  ;  and  might  also  infer 
from  a  line  in  Virgil,  in  which  he  threatens  the  negligent  hus- 
bandman with  being  compelled  again  to  shake  the  oak  for  his 
subsistence. 

Concussaque  famem  in  sylvis  solabere  quercu. — Georg.  i.  159. 
Thou'lt  shake  from  forest  oaks  thy  tasteless  food. — WARTOBT. 

ULMUS — THE  ELM. 

This  stately  tree  was  too  beautiful  and  striking  an  object 
among  the  inhabitants  of  the  grove  to  be  neglected  by  the  poets. 
One  of  its  most  obvious  and  distinguishing  characters  is  extra- 
ordinary loftiness.  Hence  Virgil,  in  his  first  eclogue,  introduces 
it  with  a  suitable  epithet,  and  with  peculiar  propriety  repre- 
sents the  shy  and  plaintive  turtle  as  making  her  seat  on  its 
summit. 

Nee  gemere  aeria  cessabit  turtur  ab  ulmo. — Ed.  i.  59. 
Nor  turtles  from  th'  aerial  elm  to  plain. — WARTON. 

In  another  place  he  finely  paints  the  effect  of  a  scorching  heat 
by  the  circumstance  of  the  bark  withering  on  the  tall  elm  :  a 
very  natural  consequence  of  the  great  height  to  which  the  sap 
must  ascend  for  its  sustenance. 

Nee  si,  cum  moriens  alta  liber  aret  in  ulmo, 

-?Ethiopum  versemusoves  sub  sidere  Cancri. — EcL  x.  6~, 


414  APPENDIX. 

While  the  bark  withers  on  the  lofty  elm, 

We  feed  an  jEthiops'  flock  'mid  Cancer's  beams. 

A  minute  attention  to  propriety  is  scarcely  any  where  more 
conspicuous  in  this  great  poet,  than  in  the  choice  he  makes  of 
the  elm  for  the  tree  on  which  to  fix  a  mark  for  the  javelin.  The 
height  and  straightness  of  its  trunk,  and  its  freedom  from 
branches,  according  to  the  usual  mode  of  training  it,  rendered  it 
the  fittest  that  could  be  pitched  upon  for  this  purpose. 

"pecorisque  magistris 
Velocis  jaeuli  certamina  ponit  in  ulmo. — Georg.  ii.  530. 

And  places  for  the  masters  of  the  flock, 
On  some  high  elm  the  rapid  javelin's  mark. 

From  the  manner  of  growth  of  this  tree,  its  use  for  the  sup- 
port of  the  weak  and  curling  vine  was  universally  deduced;  nor 
is  any  rural  circumstance  more  frequently  alluded  to  by  the 
poets,  in  simile  or  description.  Some  instances  of  this  will 
hereafter  be  quoted,  under  the  article  Vine  ;  it  may  now  be  suffi- 
cient to  remark,  that  Virgil  selects  the  junction  of  the  elm  and 
vine  as  the  discriminating  topic  of  one  whole  book  of  his 
Georgics. 

1         quo  sidere  terram 

Vertere,  Maecenas,  ulmisque  adjungere  vites, 
Conveniat. — Georg.  i.  1. 

Beneath  what  heavenly  signs  (he  glebe  to  turn, 

Round  the  tall  elm  how  circling  vines  to  lead. — WAUTOJT. 

A  distinguishing  property  of  the  elm,  its  increasing  by  means 
of  a  thick  crop  of  suckers  pushed  up  from  the  roots,  is  noticed  by 
Virgil. 

Pullulat  ab  radice  aliis  densissima  sylva. — Georg.  ii.  17. 

Some  from  the  root  a  rising  wood  disclose  : 

Thus  elms,  and  thus  the  savage  cherry  grows. — DHYDEN. 

One  of  the  uses  to  which  the  elm  was  applied,  with  the  pecu- 
liar manner  of  fitting  it  for  that  purpose,  is  mentioned  by  the 
same  writer : 

Continue  in  sylvis  magna  vi  flexa  domatur 

In  burim,  et  curvi  formam  accipit  ulmus  aratri.— Georg.  i.  169, 


APPENDIX:  415 

Young  elms  with  early  force  in  copses  bow, 

Fit  for  the  figure  of  the  crooked  plough.--DR*DEBr. 

The  expression  of  magna  vi  flexa,  "  bent  by  great  force," 
seems  to  denote  great  strength  and  toughness  of  the  wood ;  and 
in  another  place  Virgil  characterises  the  elm  by  the  epithet 
fortis,  where  he  tells  us,  too,  that  there  were  several  species  of 
this  tree : 

Prseterea  genus  baud  unura,  nee  fortibus  ulmis. —  Georg.  ii.  83. 
Besides  not  one  the  kind  of  sturdy  elms. 

This  poet  slightly  touches  upon  another  use  of  the  elm,  which 
is  not  intelligible  without  the  aid  of  the  agricultural  writers.  He 
says, 

Viminibus  salices  foecunclse,  frondibus  ulmi.— Georg.  ii.  446. 
Willows  in  twigs  are  fruitful,  elms  in  leaves. — DHXDEST. 

Cattle  we  learn  were  fed  with  the  leaves  of  elms,  which  were 
a  most  agreeable  repast  to  them ;  and  Mr.  Evelyn  mentions  the 
same  practice  as  prevailing  in  some  parts  of  this  country  in  his 
time. 

The  elm  in  its  natural  state  of  a  wide  spreading  shady  tree, 
is  pitched  upon  by  Virgil  as  the  roosting  place  of  dreams  in 
Orcus : 

In  medio  ramos  annosaque  brachia  pandit 

Ulmus  opaca,  ingens :  quam  sedem  somnia  vulgo 

Vana  tenere  ferunt,  foliisque  sub  omnibus  hserent.— JEn.  vi.  282, 

Full  in  the  midst  a  spreading  elm  display'd 

His  aged  arms,  and  cast  a  mighty  shade  ; 

Each  trembling  leaf  with  some  light  vision  teems, 

And  heaves  impregnated  with  airy  dreams. — PITT. 

This  kind  of  tree  was  probably  here  chosen,  not  only  for  its 
closeness  and  multitude  of  leaves,  but  also  as  one  of  those  which 
by  the  ancients  were  reckoned  barren,  and  therefore  of  the  fune- 
real and  ill  omened  class ;  on  which  principle  it  was  usually 
planted  round  tombs. 

ILEX — THE  HOLM  OAK. 
The  Ilex  is  another  glandiferous  tree,  differing,  according  to 


146  APPENDIX. 

Pliny,  from  the  Oak,  in  having  leaves  serrated,  and  like  those  of 
the  Bay,  and  in  bearing  smaller  acorns.  Ovid  peculiarly  marks 
it  as  a  glandiferous  tree,  and  as  being  very  fertile  : 

— —  curvataque  glaudibus  ilex. — Met.  x.  94. 

The  holm-oak  bent  with  mast. 

It  appears  to  have  been  a  very  common  species  in  Italy,  and 
that  of  which  woods  and  groves  were  chiefly  composed.  The 
poets  usually  add  to  it  the  epithet  of  niger,  which  corresponds 
with  the  dark  hue  common  to  all  evergreens,  of  which  this  is  one. 
Thus  Virgil, 

\ 

Jlice  sub  nigra  palentes  ruminatherbas. — EC.  vi.  54. 
Chews  the  pale  herbs  beneath  the  dusky  holm. 


mgrum 


lUdbus  crebris  sacra  nemus  adcubet  umbra. — Georg,  iii.  334. 

Or  where  the  ilex  forest  dark  and  deep 

Sheds  holy  horrors  o'er  the  hanging  steep. — PITT. 

Sylva  fuit  late  dumis  atque  ilice  nigra. — «.45n.  ix.  381. 

Horrid  the  wood  wide  spread  with  tangled  brakes 
And  ilex  dark. 

Horace  adds  to  this  quality,  those  of  hardiness  and  vigorous 
vegetation,  and  even  selects  it  for  a  comparison  with  the  noble 
character  of  the  Roman  people  : 

Duris  ut  ilex  tonsa  bipennibus 
Nigras  feraci  frondis  in  Algido, 

Per  damna,  per  csedesab  ipso 

Ducitopes  animumque  fcrro. — Carm.  iv.  4.  57. 

As  the  black  ilex,  shorn  by  vigorous  steel, 

Sprouts  on  the  mountain's  verdant  side  ; 

From  wounds,  from  deaths,  no  dread,  no  loss  they  feel, 

But  grow  in  strength,  and  rise  in  pride. 

It  appears  however  that  the  wood  of  the  Ilex  was  much  sub- 
ject to  decay ;  for  the  epithet  "hollow"  is  particularly  applied 
to  it  by  Virgil : 

— — cava  pricdixit  ab  ilice  cornic. — EC.  i.  18. 

With  boding  croaks  the  hollow  ilex  rung. 

And  this  he  confirms  by  the  observation  that  bees  fr«quently 
made  their  hires  iu  its  cavities. 


APPENDIX.  417 

apes  examina  condunt 


Corticibusque  cavis,  vitiosseque  ilicis  alveo. — Georg.  ii.  45-2. 

In  hollow  bark  the  boes  their  offspring  hide, 
And  in  the  mouldering  holm-oak's  vacant  side. 

This  remark  shows  the  propriety  of  particularising  the  Ilex  in 
the  two  following  passages  : 

Mellacava  manant  ex  ilice. — Hon.  Epod.  xvi.  47. 
Flavaque  dc  viridi  stillabant  ilice  inella. — OVID.  J\let.  i.  112. 

From  the  green  ilex  yellow  honey  flowed. 

I  confess,  however,  that  these  lines  have  the  air  of  that  poeti- 
cal phraseology  for  which  I  have  censured  the  modern  poets. 

This  tree  probably  delighted  in  a  rocky  soil,  and  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  water;  for  Horace  describes  it  as  overshadowing  the 
source  of  his  sweet  fountain  Blandusia. 

Pies  nobilium  tu  quoque  fontium, 
Me  dicente  cavis  impositam  ilicem 

Saxis,  unde  loquaces 

Lymphse  desiliunt  tuse. —  Carm.  iii.  13. 13. 

Soon  shall  thou  flow  a  noble  spring, 

While  in  immortal  verse  I  sing 

Thtt  trees  that  spread  the  rocks  around 

From  whence  thy  prattling  waters  bound. — FRAKCIS. 

The  peculiar  species  of  tree  is  lost  in  this  translation. 
With  respect  to  its  economical  uses,  we  learn  from  Virgil  that 
troughs  for  water  were  made  of  this  wood. 

Currentera  ilignis  potare  canalibus  undam. — Georg.  iii.  330. 
From  troughs  of  ilex  made  to  drink  the  stream. 

And  that  it  was  particularly  used  for  the  construction  of  funeral 
pyres. 

Erecta  ingenti  (pyra,)  tsedis  atque  ilice  secta. — JEn.  iv.  505. 
A  mighty  pyre  of  fir  and  holm, 

We  learn  moreover  from  Horace,  that  the  finest  flavoured  wild 
boars  were  those  fed  on  the  acorns  of  the  Ilex. 

Umber,  et  iUgtia  nutritus  glande  rotundas 

Curvet  aper  lances  carnem  vitantis  ioertem,— Sat.  ii.  4.  40. 


418  APPENDIX. 

The  boar  from  Umbria,  fed  with  ilex  -mast, 
Shall  load  his  dish  who  hates  a  vapid  taste. 

FAGUS  —  THE  BEECH. 

There  is  no  doubt,  from  Pliny's  description,  that  the  Fagus  of 
the  Romans  was  our  Beech  ;  and  few  as  the  circumstances  are 
which  the  poets  have  mentioned  relative  to  this  tree,  they  are 
yet  sufficient  to  mark  it  with  tolerable  precision. 

The  thickness  of  its  foliage,  and  wide  spreading  of  its  branches, 
which  invited  the  shepherds  of  Italy  to  repose  beneath  its  shade 
during  the  heats  of  noon,  are  twice  introduced  into  the  beautiful 
scenery  of  Virgil's  Eclogues. 

Tityre,  tu  patulte  recubans  sub  tegmine/h§7, 
Sylvestrem  tenui  musam  meditaris  avena.  —  EC.  \.  1. 

Beneath  the  shade  which  beechen  boughs  diffuse, 
You,  Tityrus,  entertain  your  sylvan  muse.  —  DRIDEN. 


Tantum  inter  densas, 
Assidue  veniebat.  —  EC.  ii.  3. 

'Midst  shades  of  thickest  beech  he  pined  alone.  — 

The  use  of  its  smooth  and  green  bark  for  receiving  inscrip- 
tions from  the  sylvan  pen  of  lovers  (as  Thomson  calls  it)  is  no- 
ticed by  the  same  poet. 


Imo  hrec,  in  viridi  nuper 

Carmina  descripsi,  et  modulans  alterna  uotavi, 

Experiar.—  EC.  v.  13. 

Rather  I'll  try  those  verses  to  repeat 
Which  on  a  beech's  verdant  bark  I  writ  : 
I  writ  and  sung  between.—  WARTON. 

Ovid  refers  to  the  same  custom  ;  and  adds  the  beautiful  thought 
of  the  name  of  the  fair  one  growing  and  spreading  with  the  growth 
of  the  tree. 

Incisie  servant  a  te  mea  nomina/og-j, 

El  legor  GEnone,  falcc  notata  tua. 
Et  quantum  trunci,  tantum  mea  nomina  crescunt  : 

Crescite,  et  in  titulos  surgite  recta  meos.  —  Ep.  (Enon.  Par.  21. 

The  beeches,  faithful  guardians  of  your  flame, 
Bear  on  their  wounded  trunks  CEnone's  nhiu- 
And  38  the  trunks,  so  still  the  letters  grow  : 
Spread  on  ;  and  fair  aloft  my  titles  show. 


APPENDIX.  419 

The  wood  of  the  beech  was  used  formerly,  as  at  present,  by  the 
turner ;  and  vessels  made  of  it  were  considered  as  suited  to  the 
simplicity  of  the  pastoral  times. 


nee  bella  fuerunt, 


Faginus  aclstabat  cum  scyphus  ante  dapes. — TIBUL.  i.  11. 
nor  raged  the  sword, 


When  beechen  bowls  stood  on  the  frugal  board. 


Yet  this  cheap  material  was  capable  of  receiving  a  considera- 
ble value  from  the  hand  of  the  carver.  Thus  Virgil's  shepherd 
stakes  a  cup  of  this  sort  as  one  of  his  most  valuable  possessions. 


pocula  ponam 


Fagina,  coelatum  divini  opus  Alcimedontis.—  Eel.  iii.  36. 

Two  beauteous  bowls  of  beechen  wood  are  mine, 
The  sculpture  of  Alciraedon  divine.  —  WARTON. 

Beech  timber,  as  we  learn  from  Virgil,  was  likewise  employed 
in  the  construction  of  ploughs  ;  and  though  the  passage  is  not 
very  clear,  it  would  seem  that  the  stiva,  or  plough-staff,  was  made 
of  this  wood. 


Cseditur  et  tilia  ante  jugo  levis,  aUa 

Stivaque,  quts  currus  a  turgo  torqueat  imos  —  Georg.  i.  173. 

Light  to  the  yoke  the  linden  feels  the  wound, 
And  the  tall  beech  lies  stretch  'd  along  the  ground; 
They  fall  for  staves  thai  guide  the  ploughshare's  course. 

WARTOX. 


420  APPENDIX. 

(B.  p.  122.) 
BIOGRAPHICAL  ACCOUNT 

OF  THE 

LATE  REV.  DR.  ENFIELD, 


THE  Rev.  William  Enfield,  LL.D.  was  born  at  Sudbury  in 
Suffolk,  on  March  29th,  1741, 0.  S.  In  common  with  many  other 
characters  of  moral  and  literary  excellence,  it  was  his  lot  to 
come  into  the  world  destitute  of  the  advantages  of  birth  or  for- 
tune His  parents  were  in  a  humble  condition  of  life,  which  they 
rendered  respectable  by  their  virtues.  His  early  education  was 
probably  on  the  narrow  scale  marked  out  by  his  circumstances. 
By  his  amiable  disposition  and  promising  parts  he  recommend- 
ed himself  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hextall,  the  dissenting  minister  of 
the  place,  who  treated  him  with  peculiar  notice,  and  took  plea- 
sure in  forming  his  youthful  mind.  He  particularly  awakened 
in  him  a  sensibility  to  the  beauties  of  oui  principal  poets;  among 
whom,  Akenside,  by  the  charms  of  his  versification,  and  the  exalt- 
ed tone  of  his  philosophy,  was  a  peculiar  favourite  both  with  the 
instructor  and  the  pupil.  It  appears  to  me  no  unreasonable  sup- 
position that  to  his  earty  fondness  for  this  author,  Dr.  Enfield 
was  indebted,  more  than  to  any  other  single  circumstance,  for 
that  uniform  purity  of  language,  that  entire  freedom  from  any 
thing  like  vulgarity,  as  well  in  conversation  as  in  writing,  by 
which  he  was  ever  distinguished.  Mr.  Hextall's  good  opinion  was 
probably  the  chief  cause  of  his  being  devoted  to  the  Christian 
ministry.  In  his  17th  year  he  was  sent  to  the  academy  at  Da- 
ventry,  then  conducted  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Ashworth.  At  this  semi- 
nary  he  passed  through  the  usual  course  of  preparatory  study 
for  the  pulpit.  Of  his  academical  character  I  know  no  more 
than  that  he  was  always  conspicuous  for  the  elegance  of  his  com- 
positions ;  and  that  he  was  among  the  number  of  those  students 


APPENDIX.  421 

whose  inquiries  led  them  to  adopt  a  less  rigid  system  of  Christi- 
anity than  was  the  established  doctrine  of  the  place. 

It  was  a  striking  proof  of  the  attractions  he  possessed  as  a 
preacher,  and  as  an  amiable  man  in  society,  that  almost  imme- 
diately on  leaving  the  academy  he  was  invited  to  undertake  the 
office  of  sole  minister  to  the  congregation  of  Benn's  Garden  in 
Liverpool,  one  of  the  most  respectable  among  the  dissenters. 
To  that  situation  he  was  ordained  in  November  1763 ;  and  in  a 
town  abounding  with  agreeable  society,  and  distinguished  by 
liberal  sentiments  and  hospitable  manners,  he  passed  seven  of 
the  happiest  years  of  his  life.  He  married,  in  1767,  Mary,  the 
only  daughter  of  Mr.  Holland,  draper  in  Liverpool ;  and  a  most 
cordial  union  of  thirty  years  gave  full  proof  of  the  felicity  of  his 
choice.  Though  greatly  engaged  both  in  the  present  intercourses 
of  society,  and  in  the  serious  duties  of  his  office,  he  com- 
menced in  this  place  his  literary  career  with  two  volumes  of  ser- 
mons, printed  in  1768  and  1770,  which  were  very  favourably  re- 
ceived by  the  public.  Their  pleasing  moral  strain,  marked  by 
no  systematic  peculiarities,  so  well  adapted  them  for  general 
use,  that  many  congregations,  besides  that  in  which  they  were 
originally  preached,  had  the  benefit  of  the  instruction  they  con 
veyed.  A  collection  of  Hymns,  for  the  use  of  his  congregation, 
and  of  Family  Prayers  of  his  own  composition,  for  private  use, 
further  added  to  his  professional  and  literary  reputation. 

On  the  death  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Seddon  of  Warrington,  Mr. 
Enfield  was  one  of  the  first  persons  thought  of  by  the  trustees 
of  the  academical  institution  founded  in  that  place,  to  succeed 
him  in  the  offices  of  tutor  in  the  belles-lettres,  and  of  resident 
conductor  of  the  discipline,  under  the  title  of  Rector  Jlcademise. 
With  respect  to  his  fitness  for  the  first,  no  doubt  could  be  enter- 
tained. The  second  was  an  untried  exertion,  depending  for  its 
success  upon  qualities  of  temper  rarely  meeting  in  one  indivi- 
dual. Whatever  could  be  effected  by  those  amiable  endowments 
which  conciliate  affection,  might  be  hoped  from  one  who  was  be- 
come the  delight  of  a  large  circle  of  acquaintance  ;  but  in  those 
emergencies  where  firmness,  resolution,  and  a  kind  of  dignified 
severity  of  conduct,  might  be  requisite,  there  was  cause  to  ap- 
prehend a  failure.  He  had  his  misgivings,  but  they  were  over- 
come by  the  encouragement  and  importunity  of  friends;  and  the 
offered  situation  was  in  several  respects  such  as  might  flatter  a 
young  man,  fond  of  literary  society,  and  ambitious  of  a  proper 


APPENDIX. 

field  for  the  display  of  his  talents.  He  accepted  it,  together 
with  the  office  of  minister  to  the  dissenting  congregation  ot  War- 
rington.  The  occupations  in  which  he  engaged  were  extensive 
and  complicated  ;  but  no  man  had  ever  a  better  right  to  confide 
in  his  own  industry  and  readiness. 

Every  one  acquainted  with  the  attempts  that  have  been  made 
by  the  dissenters  to  institute  places  of  education  for  the  advanc- 
ed periods  of  youth,  must  have  been  sensible  of  the  extreme  diffi- 
culty of  uniting  the  liberal  plan  of  a  collegiate  life  with  such  a 
system  of  internal  dicipline  as  shall  secure  sobriety  of  manners, 
and  diligence  in  the  pursuit  of  study.  Those  sanctions  which, 
however  imperfectly,  serve  as  engines  of  government  in  semina- 
ries established  by  the  state,  must  ever  be  wanting  in  private 
institutions,  which  cannot  annex  to  the  grossest  violation  of  their 
laws  a  higher  penalty  than  simple  expulsion,  followed  by  no 
disabilities  or  deprivations,  and  probably  held  extremely  cheap 
by  those  who  have  most  deserved  it.  Warrington  had  a  full 
share  of  this  difficulty;  and  also  laboured  under  others,  which 
rendered  its  existence,  though  at  times  it  appeared  flourishing 
and  respectable,  little  better  than  a  long  struggle  against  incu- 
rable disease.  The  efforts  of  Dr.  Enfield  were  faithfully  joined 
with  those  of  his  colleagues,  to  support  its  credit,  and  to  remedy 
evils  as  they  occurred.  His  diligence  was  exemplary ;  his  ser- 
vices as  a  public  and  private  tutor  were  numerous  and  valuable; 
his  attention  to  discipline  was,  at  least,  uninterrupted ;  but  it 
may  be  acknowledged  that  the  arduous  post  of  domestic  superin- 
tendant,  and  enforcer  of  the  laws,  was  not  that  for  which  he  was 
best  calculated.  So  sensible,  indeed,  was  he  of  his  deficiency  in 
this  respect,  and  so  much  did  he  find  his  tranquillity  injured  by 
the  scenes  to  which  he  was  exposed,  that  he  made  a  very  serious 
attempt  to  free  himself  from  the  burden,  by  resigning  this  part 
of  his  charge ;  and  it  was  only  after  the  failure  of  various  appli- 
cations by  the  trustees  to  engage  a  successor,  that  he  suffered 
himself  to  be  persuaded  to  retain  it.  In  fine,  the  crisis  of  the 
institution  arrived  in  1783,  and  its  embarrassments  were  cured 
by  its  dissolution. 

However  toilsome  and  anxious  this  period  of  Dr.  Enfield's  life 
might  have  been,  it  was  that  of  rapid  mental  improvement.  By 
the  company  he  kept,  and  the  business  he  had  to  go  through,  his 
faculties  were  strained  to  full  exertion  :  nor  was  it  only  as  a  tutor 
that  he  employed  his  talents ;  he  greatly  extended  his  reputation 


APPENDIX.  423 

as  a  writer.  The  following  list  comprises  those  works  which 
he  published  during  his  residence  at  Warrington.  Several  of 
them  belong  to  the  humble  but  useful  class  of  compilations; 
yet  in  them  he  found  occasion  to  display  the  elegance  of  his 
taste,  and  the  soundness  of  his  judgment. 

A  Sermon  at  the  Ordination  of  the  Rev.  Philip  Taylor;  1770. 

The  Preacher's  Directory  ;   1771,  4to. 

The  English  Preacher;  a  Collection  of  Sermons  abridged  and  selected  from  va- 
rious authors;  9  vols.  l'2mo.  1773. 

An  Essay  toward  the  History  of  Liverpool,  from  the  papers  of  the  late  Mr.  Geo, 
Perry,  with  other  materials  since  collected  ;  small  fol.  1774. 

Observations  on  Literary  Property  ;  4to.  1770. 

The  Speaker;  or  Miscellaneous  Pieces  selected  from  the  best  English  Writers, 
for  the  purposes  of  Reading  and  Speaking  ;  8vo.  1774.  To  this  very  popular  Work 
was  prefixed  an  Essay  on  Elocution  ;  and  to  a  subsequent  edition  was  subjoined  an 
Essay  on  Reading  Works  of  Taste. 

Biographical  Sermons,  on  the  principal  Characters  mentioned  in  the  Old  and  New 
Testament;  12mo.  1777. 

A  Sermon  on  the  Death  of  Mr.  J.  Gall  way,  a  Student  in  the  Academy  at  War- 
rington ;  1777. 

A  Sermon  on  the  Ordination  of  the  Rev.  J.  Prior  Estlin;  1778. 

A  Sermon  on  the  Death  of  the  Rev.  J.  Aikin,  D.  D.  1780. 

Exercises  in  Elocution,  being  a  Sequel  to  the  Speaker  ;  8vo.  1781.  To  an  edition 
ot  this  in  1794  was  added,  Counsels  for  Young  Men. 

A  Collection  of  Hymns  ;  intended  as  a  Supplement  to  Watt's  Psalms ;  1781. 

A  Translation  of  Rossignol's  Elements  of  Geometry  ;  8vo. 

Institutes  of  Natural  Philosophy,  Theoretical  and  Experimental ;  4to,  1783. 

It  will  be  remarked,  that  mathematical  science  is  included 
among  the  later  topics ;  and  no  circumstance  is  better  adapted 
to  give  an  idea  of  the  power  of  his  mind  than  the  occasion  and 
manner  of  his  taking  up  this  abstruse  study,  which  had  previously 
by  no  means  been  a  favourite  with  him.  On  a  vacancy  in  the 
mathematical  department  of  the  academy,  it  was  found  imprac- 
ticable to  give  adequate  encouragement  from  the  funds  it  pos- 
sessed to  a  separate  tutor  in  that  branch.  Dr.  Enfield  was  there- 
fore strongly  urged  to  undertake  it;  and  by  the  hard  study  of 
one  vacation  he  qualified  himself  to  set  out  with  a  new  class, 
which  he  instructed  with  great  clearness  and  precision  ;  himself 
advancing  in  the  science  in  proportion  to  the  demand,  till  he  be- 
came a  very  excellent  teacher  in  all  the  parts  which  were  requi- 
site in  the  academical  course. 

The  degree  of  doctor  of  laws,  which  added  a  new  title  to  his 
name  during  his  residence  at  Warrington,  was  conferred  upon 
him  by  the  university  of  Edinburgh. 


424  APPENDIX. 

After  the  dissolution  of  the  academy,  Dr.  Enfield  remained 
two  years  at  Warrington,  occupied  in  the  education  of  private 
pupils,  a  small  number  of  whom  he  took  as  boarders,  and  in  the 
care  of  his  congregation.  For  the  instruction  of  the  latter  he 
drew  up  a  series  of  discourses  on  the  principal  incidents  and 
moral  precepts  of  the  gospel,  in  which  he  displayed  both  his  ta- 
lents as  a  commentator,  arid  his  skill  in  expanding  into  general 
lessons  of  conduct,  those  hints  and  particular  observations  which 
occur  in  the  sacred  narratives.  This  will  not  be  an  improper 
place  to  give  some  account  of  Dr.  Enfield's  character  as  a 
preacher  and  a  divine.  His  manner  of  delivery  was  grave  and 
impressive,  affecting  rather  a  tenor  of  uniform  dignity  than  a  va- 
riety of  expression,  for  which  his  voice  was  not  well  calculated. 
It  was  entirely  free  from  what  is  called  tone,  and  though  not 
highly  animated,  was  by  no  means  dull,  and  never  careless  or 
indifferent.  As  to  his  matter,  it  was  almost  exclusively  that  of 
a  m.oral  preacher.  Religion  was  to  him  rather  a  principle  than  a 
sentiment;  and  he  was  more  solicitous  to  deduce  from  it  a  rule 
of  life,  enforced  by  its  peculiar  sanctions,  than  to  elevate  it  into 
a  source  of  sublime  feeling.  Despising  superstition,  and  fearing 
enthusiasm,  he  held  as  of  inferior  value  every  thing  in  religion 
which  could  not  ally  itself  with  morality,  and  condescend  to  hu- 
man uses.  His  theological  system  was  purged  of  every  myste- 
rious or  unintelligible  proposition  ;  it  included  nothing  which 
appeared  to  him  irreconcileable  with  sound  philosophy,  and  the 
most  rational  opinions  concerning  the  divine  nature  and  perfec- 
tions. Possibly  the  test  of  rationality  might  with  him  supersede 
that  of  literary  criticism.  It.  will  be  seen  from  the  subjects  se- 
lected for  this  publication,  that  moral  topics  were  much  more  con- 
genial to  him  than  doctrinal  ones  ;  and  his  character  as  a  public 
instructor  must  be  derived  from  the  manner  in  which  he  has  treat- 
ed these.  Probably  it  will  be  found  that  scarcely  any  writer  has 
entered  with  more  delicacy  into  the  minute  and  less  obvious 
points  of  morality — has  more  skilfully  marked  out  the  nice  dis- 
criminations of  virtue  and  vice,  of  the  fit  and  unfit.  He  has  not 
only  delineated  the  path  of  the  strictly  right,  but  of  the  amiable 
and  becoming.  He  has  aimed  at  rendering  mankind  not  only 
mutually  serviceable,  but  mutually  agreeable;  and  has  delighted 
in  painting  true  goodness  with  all  those  colours  which  it  was  said 
of  old  would  make  her  so  enchanting  should  she  ever  become 
visible  to  mortal  eyes. 


APPENDIX.  425 

It  will,  perhaps,  be  expected  that  something  should  be  said  of 
Dr.  Enfield  in  the  peculiar  character  of  a  Dissenter.  To  dissent 
was  by  no  means  a  part  of  his  natural  disposition  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  could  not  without  a  struggle  differ  from  those  whom  he 
saw  dignified  by  station,  respectable  for  learning  and  morals,  and 
amiable  in  the  intercourse  of  society.  Nor  was  the  voice  of  au- 
thority, when  mildly  and  reasonably  exerted,  a  signal  to  him  of 
resistance,  but  rather  a  call  to  acquiescence.  It  is  therefore  nat 
to  be  wondered  at,  that  there  was  a  period  in  his  life  when  he 
looked  towards  the  religious  establishment  of  his  country  with  a 
wish  that  no  insuperable  barrier  should  exist  to  the  admission  of 
those  who,  without  violating  the  absolute  dictates  of  conscience, 
might  desire  to  join  it.  Inclined  by  temper  and  system  to  think 
well  of  mankind,  and  to  entertain  sanguine  hopes  of  their  pro- 
gress towards  truth  and  reason,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 
imagine  that  the  active  efforts  (which  we  may  all  remember)  of 
many  excellent  persons  to  produce  a  further  reform  in  the  Eng- 
lish church,  and  render  the  terms  of  entrance  into  its  ministry 
more  easy  and  liberal,  would  in  the  end  fail  of  their  effect.  This 
idea  dwelt  long  and  weightily  on  his  mind,  and  disposed  him 
rather  to  regard  the  conformities,  than  the  differences,  between 
systems  which  he  expected  to  see  continually  more  nearly  ap- 
proaching each  other.  Moreover,  the  correct  and  elegant  language, 
and  the  manly  strain  of  morality,  which  then  characterised  the  pul- 
pit compositions  of  the  most  eminent  of  the  clergy,  command- 
ed his  entire  approbation  ;  and  he  thought  that  a  mutual  oblivion 
of  topics  of  controversy  might  take  place,  from  a  consent  in  all 
friends  of  rational  religion  to  confine  their  public  discourses  to 
subjects  on  which  no  differences  existed  between  them.  He  lived, 
however,  to  see  all  his  expectations  of  this  amicable  union  frus- 
trated— to  see  hierarchical  claims  maintained  more  dogmatically 
than  before — and  the  chief  stress  of  religion  placed  upon  those 
doctrines  in  which  the  English  church-articles  most  differ  from 
the  opinions  of  that  class  of  dissenters  to  which  he  belonged, 
He  lived,  therefore,  to  become  a  more  decided  separatist  than  ever; 
and  I  am  sure,  that  for  many  years  before  his  death,  though  all 
his  personal  candour  and  good  will  towards  the  opposite  party 
remained,  no  consideration  would  have  induced  him  to  range 
himself  under  its  banners.  The  rights  of  private  judgment  and 
public  discussion,  and  all  the  fundamental  points  of  civil  and  re- 
ligious liberty,  were  become  more  and  more  dear  to  him ;  and  he 
3  H 


426  APPENDIX. 

asserted  them  with  a  courage  and  zeal  which  seemed  scarcely  to 
belong  to  his  habitual  temper.  A  very  manly  discourse,  which 
he  published  in.  1788,  on  the  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  revo- 
lution, sufficiently  testifies  his  sentiments  on  these  important  sub- 
jects. 

It  is  now  time  to  return  to  biographical  narrative.  In  1785, 
receiving  an  invitation  from  the  congregation  of  the  Octagon  cha- 
ple  at  Norwich,  a  society  with  whom  any  man  might  esteem  it  an 
honour  and  happiness  to  be  connected,  he  accepted  it,  under  the 
condition  of  residing  at  a  small  distance  from  the  city,  and  con- 
tinuing his  plan  of  domestic  tuition.  He  first  settled  at  the  plea- 
sant village  of  Thorpe;  but  at  length  he  found  it  more  convenient 
to  remove  to  Norwich  itself.  Though  he  was  eminently  happy 
in  his  mode  of  educating  a  small  number,  of  which  several  strik- 
ing examples  might  be  adduced  ;  yet,  like  most  who  have  adopt- 
ed that  plan,  he  found  that  the  difficulty  of  keeping  up  a  regular 
supply  of  pupils,  and  the  unpleasant  restraint  arising  from  a  party 
of  young  men,  so  far  domiciliated,  that  they  left  neither  time 
nor  place  for  family  privacy,  more  than  compensated  the  advan- 
tages to  be  derived  from  such  an  employment  of  his  talents.  He 
finally  removed,  therefore,  to  a  smaller  habitation,  entire  declin- 
ed receiving  boarders,  and  only  gave  private  instructions  to  two 
or  three  select  pupils  a  few  hours  in  the  forenoon.  At  length  he 
determined  to  be  perfectly  master  of  his  own  time,  and  to  give  to 
his  family,  friends,  and  spontaneous  literary  pursuits,  all  the  lei- 
sure he  possessed  from  his  professional  duties.  The  circum- 
stances of  his  family  confirmed  him  in  this  resolution.  He 
was  the  father  of  two  sons  and  three  daughters,  all  educated 
under  his  own  eye;  and  had  he  had  no  other  examples  to  pro- 
duce of  his  power  of  making  himself  at  the  same  time  a  friend 
and  a  tutor — of  conciliating  the  most  tender  affection  with  ready 
and  undeviating  obedience — his  children  would,  by  all  who  knew 
them,  be  admitted  as  sufficient  proofs  of  this  happy  art.  They 
became  every  thing  that  their  parents  could  wish; — but  the  eld- 
est son,  after  passing  with  uncommon  reputation  through  his 
clerkship  to  an  attorney  (Mr.  Roscoe  of  Liverpool,)  and  advan- 
cing so  far  in  his  professional  career  as  to  be  appointed,  when 
just  of  age,  town-clerk  of  Nottingham,  was  suddenly  snatched 
away  by  a  fever.  The  doctor  bore  his  grievous  loss  with  exem- 
plary resignation  ;  but  the  struggle  produced  effects  on  his  health 
which  alarmed  his  friends.  Symptoms  resembling  those  of  the 


APPENDIX.  427 

fatal  disease  termed  angina  pectoris  came  on  ;  indeed,  it  may  be 
said  that  he  really  laboured  under  an  incipient  state  of  this  dis- 
order. But  time,  medicine,  and  happier  subjects  of  reflection, 
restored  him  to  health  and  cheerfulness.  He  had  the  felicity  of 
seeing  two  of  his  daughters  most  desirably  settled  in  marriage. 
His  remaining  son  bid  fair  to  become  all  that  the  other  had  been. 
He  was,  therefore,  fully  entitled  to  enjoy  himself  in  the  domes- 
tic freedom  he  loved,  and  to  confine  his  future  exertions  to  those 
lettered  employments  which,  to  one  of  his  industrious  habits, 
were  necessary  to  give  a  zest  to  social  relaxation. 

He  had  not  yet  completely  detached  himself  from  the  business 
of  tuition,  when  he  undertook  the  most  laborious  of  his  literary 
tasks,  an  abridgement  of  Brucker's  History  of  Philosophy.  This 
work  appeared  in  two  volumes  4to.  in  the  year  1791,  and  would 
alone  have  been  sufficient  to  establish  the  writer's  character  as  a 
master  of  the  middle  style  of  composition,  and  as  a  judicious  se- 
lector of  what  was  most  valuable  in  the  representation  of  man- 
ners and  opinions.  The  original  work  has  obtained  a  high  re- 
putation among  the  learned,  for  the  depth  of  its  researches,  and 
the  liberality  of  its  spirit;  but  its  Latin  style  is  involved  and 
prolix,  and  the  heaviness  that  pervades  the  whole  has  rendered  it 
rather  a  book  for  occasional  consultation  than  for  direct  perusal. 
Dr.  Enfield's  abridgement  is  a  work  equally  instructive  and 
agreeable;  and  it  may  be  pronounced  that  the  tenets  of  all  the 
leading  sects  of  philosophers  were  never  before,  in  the  English 
language,  displayed  with  such  elegance  and  perspicuity.  It  was, 
indeed,  his  peculiar  talent  to  arrange  and  express  other  men's 
ideas  to  the  greatest  advantage.  His  style,  chaste,  clear,  correct, 
free  from  all  affectation  and  singularity,  was  proper  for  all  topics; 
and  the  spirit  of  method  and  order  which  reigned  in  his  own 
mind,  communicated  itself  to  every  subject  which  he  touched 
upon.  These  qualities,  together  with  that  candour  which  was 
interwoven  in  his  very  constitution,  especially  fitted  him  to  take 
a  part  in  a  literary  journal ;  and  to  one  of  the  most  respectable 
of  these  works  he  was  long  a  considerable  contributor.  The  in- 
stitution of  a  new  magazine,  under  the  name  of  the  Monthly, 
which  in  its  plan  embraced  a  larger  circle  of  original  literature 
than  usual  with  these  miscellanies,  engaged  him  to  exercise  his 
powers  as  an  essayist  on  a  variety  of  topics  ;  and  the  papers  with 
which  he  enriched  it,  under  the  title  of  The  Inquirer,  obtained 


428.  APPENDIX. 

great  applause  from  the  manly  freedom  of  their  sentiments,  and 
the  correct  elegance  of  their  language. 

Thus  did  his  latter  years  glide  on,  tranquil  and  serene,  in  the 
bosom  of  domestic  comfort,  surrounded  by  friends  to  whom  he 
became  continually  more  dear,  and  in  the  midst  of  agreeable 
occupations.  So  well  confirmed  did  his  health  appear,  and  so 
much  did  he  feel  himself  in  the  full  vigour  and  maturity  of  his 
powers,  that  he  did  not  hesitate,  in  the  year  1796,  to  associate 
himself  with  the  writer  of  this  account,  one  of  his  oldest  and 
most  intimate  companions,  in  a  literary  undertaking  of  great 
magnitude,  which  looked  to  a  distant  period  for  its  completion. 
Were  it  not  the  duty  of  mortals  to  employ  their  talents  in  the 
way  they  can  approve,  without  regarding  contingencies  which, 
they  can  neither  foresee  nor  overrule,  such  an  engagement,  in  per- 
sons descending  into  the  vale  of  years,  might  be  accused  of  pre- 
sumption ;  but  it  implied  in  them  no  more  than  a  resolution  to 
act  with  diligence  as  long  as  they  should  be  permitted  to  act — 
io  work  while  it  is  called  to-day,  mindful  of  that  approaching 
night  when  no  man  can  work.  The  composition,  that  of  a  Gene- 
ral Biographical  Dictionary,  proved  so  agreeable  to  Dr.  Enfield, 
that  he  was  often  heard  to  say  his  hours  of  study  had  never 
passed  so  pleasantly  with  him  ;  and  the  progress  he  made  was 
proportioned  to  his  industry  and  good  will.  Every  circumstance 
seemed  to  promise  him  years  of  comfort  in  store.  He  was  hap- 
py himself,  and  imparted  that  happiness  to  all  who  came  within 
the  sphere  of  his  influence.  But  an  incurable  disease  was  in  the 
mean  time  making  unsuspected  advances.  A  scirrhous  contrac- 
tion of  the  rectum,  denoting  itself  only  by  symptoms  which  he 
did  not  understand,  and  which,  therefore,  he  imperfectly  de- 
scribed to  his  medical  friends,  was  preparing,  without  pain  or 
general  disease,  to  effect  a  sudden  and  irresistible  change.  The 
very  day  before  this  disorder  manifested  itself  he  was  compli- 
mented on  his  cheerful  spirits  and  healthy  looks,  and  himself 
confessed  that  he  had  nothing,  bodily  or  mental,  of  which  he 
ought  to  complain.  But  the  obstruction  was  now  formed.  A 
sickness  came  on,  the  proper  functions  of  the  intestines  were 
suspended,  nothing  was  able  to  give  relief;  and  after  a  week, 
passed  rather  in  constant  uneasiness  than  in  acute  pain,  with 
his  faculties  entire  nearly  to  the  last,  foreseeing  the  fatal  event, 
ami  meeting  it  with  manly  fortitude,  he  sunk  in  the  arms  of  his 
children  and  friends,  and  expired  without  a  struggle.  This  ca- 


APPENDIX.  429 

tastrophe  took  place  on  November  3d,  1797,  in  the  fifty-seventh 
year  of  his  life.  The  deep  regrets  of  all  who  knew  him— of  those 
the  most  to  whom  he  was  best  known — render  it  unnecessary  to 
enter  into  any  further  description  of  a  character,  the  essense  of 
which  was  to  be  amiable.  A  man's  writings  have  often  proved 
very  inadequate  tests  of  his  dispositions.  Those  of  Dr.  Enfield, 
however,  are  riot.  They  breathe  the  very  spirit  of  his  gentle  and 
generous  soul.  He  loved  mankind,  and  wished  nothing  so  much 
as  to  render  them  the  worthy  objects  of  love.  This  is  the  lead- 
ing character  of  those  of  his  discourses  which  have  been  select- 
ed for  publication ;  as  it  is,  indeed,  of  all  he  composed.  May 
their  effect  equal  the  most  sanguine  wishes  of  their  benevolent 
author! 


428  APPENDIX. 


(C.  p.  122.) 
DESCRIPTION 


OF  THE 


COUNTRY  ABOUT  DORKINGK 


IT  is  a  sufficiently  trite  remark,  that  objects  of  admiration  and 
curiosity  near  at  hand  are  commonly  neglected  for  those  at  a 
distance;  and  that  even  their  existence  is  often  unknown  to 
those  who  might  become  spectators  of  them  any  day  of  their 
lives.  I  was  never  more  struck  with  the  truth  of  this  observa- 
tion, than  on  a  late  residence  for  some  weeks  at  Dorking,  in 
Surrey,  the  vicinity  of  which  place  affords  scenes  not  only  of 
such  uncommon  beauty,  but  of  so  romantic  a  cast,  as  few  would 
expect  to  meet  with  so  near  the  metropolis.  I  should  probably  have 
made  use  of  the  term  picturesque  to  characterise  the  general 
scenery  of  this  district,  had  I  not  been  fully  convinced  by  the 
ingenious  Mr.  Gilpin,  that  this  word  loses  all  true  meaning  the 
instant  we  deviate  from  its  etymological  definition,  that  of  "fit- 
ness for  pictured  representation.''  Now,  being  myself  but  a  very 
inadequate  judge  of  this  point,  and,  moreover,  considering  it  as 
a  manifest  degradation  of  natural  beauty  and  sublimity  to  sub- 
mit their  merit  to  the  test  of  the  capacity  of  art  to  copy  them,  I 
shall  rather  obliterate  from  my  descriptive  vocabulary  an  epithet, 
however  fashionable,  than  employ  it  without  distinct  ideas. 

The  tract  of  which  I  mean  to  attempt  a  slight  sketch,  may  be 
reckoned  to  commence  at  the  pleasant  village  of  Leatherhead, 
whence  a  narrow  valley  extends  southwards,  forming  the  bed 
of  the  small  river  Mole,  in  its  course  from  the  foot  of  Box-hill^ 
The  western  side  of  this  valley  is  composed  of  a  chain  of  heights^ 
the  principal  part  of  which  is  comprehended  in  the  precincts  of 


APPENDIX.  431 

Norbury  park.  To  them  succeed  the  hills  of  Ranmer  and  Den- 
beighs,  which  last  bends  round  to  join  the  long  ridge  running  to- 
wards Guilford.  The  eastern  side  of  this  valley  is  formed  by 
the  rising  grounds  of  Leatherhead  and  Mickleham  Downs,  and 
finally  by  Box-hill,  which  like  its  opposite  Denbeighs,  sweeps 
round  to  form  the  ridge  running  on  to  Ryegate,  and  thence  quite 
into  Kent.  Thus,  the  vale  of  Leatherhead,  after  a  course  of 
about  four  miles,  terminates  perpendicularly  in  another  vale, 
opening  on  each  hand  from  the  town  ot  Dorking,  and  extending 
many  miles  in  an  eastern  and  western  direction.  The  river 
Mole,  entering  Leatherhead  vale  from  the  foot  of  Box  hill,  and 
meandering  through  it  from  side  to  side,  bestows  on  it  a  beauti- 
ful verdure  and  rich  vegetation,  though  from  its  narrowness  and 
scanty  supply  of  water,  it  contributes  little  to  the  landscape. 

Many  are  the  elegant  seats  and  pleasant  farms  and  cottages 
which  decorate  this  delightful  vale ;  but  its  two  capital  objects 
are  Norbury  park  on  one  hand,  and  Box  hill  on  the  other.  Nor- 
bury park  is  well  known  as  the  domain  of  Mr.  Locke,  a  gentle- 
man highly  celebrated  for  the  elegance  and  correctness  of  his 
taste.  It  is  fortunate  that  a  tract  so  favoured  by  nature  should 
have  fallen  to  the  lot  of  a  master  capable  of  giving  it  all  the  ad- 
vantages of  art,  in  a  style  perfectly  correspondent  with  its  natu- 
ral character.  The  grounds  of  Norbury  consists  of  rich  meadows 
bordering  on  the  Mole,  and  abruptly  terminating  in  the  steep 
green  sides  of  a  range  of  irregular  eminences,  of  considerable 
height,  and  uniting  into  a  common  level  at  the  top.  Chalk  hills, 
of  which  kind  are  those  in  question,  have  commonly  a  grotesque 
singularity  in  their  outline.  They  give  the  idea  of  having  been 
formed  by  vast  masses  of  liquid  mortar,  poured  along  over  a 
plain,  and  at  once  setting  into  solidity.  Hence,  with  a  general 
rotundity  of  shape,  the  edges  are  composed  of  unequal  promi» 
nences,  pushing  into  or  retiring  from  the  subjacent  low  grounds, 
and  separated  from  each  other  by  deep  narrow  ravines.  Such  is 
the  surface  nature  has  given  to  Norbury  park.  Art  has  contri- 
buted the  dress  and  decoration  by  means  of  planting  ;  and  this 
has  been  managed  so  as  to  produce  the  most  striking  effects. 
The  bottom  of  meadow  is  besprinkled  with  fine  trees,  partly  fol- 
lowing the  windings  of  the  river,  partly  forming  rows  or  avenues, 
and  partly  scattered  without  obvious  order.  The  bold  ascents, 
consisting  of  round  knolls  and  amphitheatrical  sweeps,  are  for 
the  most  part  left  in  their  natural  nakedness  ;  but  the  ravines 


432  APPENDIX. 

are  filled  up  with  shrubs  and  trees,  which  shade  aU  deformities, 
and  add  great  softness  and  richness  to  the  whole.     The  summit 
of  the  eminence  is  crowned  by  noble  masses  of  trees,  expanding 
into  full  luxuriance,  and  appearing  either  as  detached  groups,  or 
long  connected  ranges,  according  to  the  points  whence  they  are 
viewed.     In  the  midst  of  these,  on  the  very  edge  of  a  command- 
ing brow,  the  house  is  placed  ;  an  edifice  of  striking  though  not 
quite  regular  architecture,  and  well  fitted  to  reign  over  the  do- 
main in  which  it  is  placed.     Some  fine  larches  planted  near  it 
just  on  the  descent  stamp  it  with  somewhat  of  an  alpine  charac- 
ter, which  its  elevation  above  the  vale,  and  the  great  variety  and 
extent  of  prospect  visible  from  it,  enable  it  to  maintain.    'The 
level  plain  around  the  house  is  a  lawn  interspersed  with  timber, 
chiefly  beech,  disposed  either  in  grand  clumps,  or  in  single  trees 
of  vast  magnitude,  filling  the  eye  with  the  gigantic  rotundity  of 
their  forms.     The  planting  is  so  managed  that  the  lawn  seems 
to  terminate  all  round  in  a  close  wood,  of  which  the  boundaries 
are  not  discoverable.     From  the  house  extends  a  sort  of  terrace 
on  the  brow  of  the  eminence,  which  at  length  leads  to  a  thick 
plantation  clothing  the  steep  sides  of  a  precipitous  declivity. 
Through  this  are  led  rides  and  walks,  presenting  sylvan  scenes 
of  exquisite  beauty,  in  which  the  beeches,  drawn  up  to  a  vast 
height  with  straight  unbranched  trunks,  acquire  a  character  of 
airy  elegance,  totally  different  from  the  massy  roundness  of  this 
tree  when  suffered  to  expand  without  interruption    A  very  beau- 
tiful appendage  to  the  planting  of  Norbury,  not  readily  discov- 
erable by  a  stranger,  is  a  close  walk  round  a  coppice  or  planta- 
tion on  the  back  of  the  park,  formed  of  young  trees,  among  which 
the  pendent  birch  is  one  of  the  most  frequent.     This  walk  winds 
round  in  the  most  free  and  graceful  curves,  by  which  the  view 
is  successively  lost  in   foliage,  and   again   recovered  in   long 
reaches.     The  trees  on  each  hand   form  a  skreen,  just  thick 
enough  to  exclude  surrounding  objects,  yet  admitting  a  soft  and 
chequered  light,  the  effect  of  which  is    rather   cheerful   than 
gloomy.     In  many  places  the  trees  arch  over  at  the  top.     Here 
and  there,  in  peculiarly  happy  situations,  views  are  opened  into 
the  surrounding  country ;  but  these  do  not  impair  the  leading 
character  of  the  walk,  which  is  that  of  perfect  retirement.    ,1  do 
not  recollect  ever  to  have  felt  a  sweeter  emotion  of  the  kind,  than 
when  accident  first  led  me  to  this  sequestered  spot. 

In  the  descriptions  of  celebrated  places,  I  think  the  distinc- 


APPENDIX.  433 

tion  is  seldom  clearly  made  between  the  scenes  they  themselves 
afford,  and  the  prospects  to  be  viewed  from  them.  Yet  this  is  a 
distinction  obvious  and  material.  Some  spots,  if  denuded  of 
everv  ornament  of  their  own,  and  left  merely  in  a  state  of  nature, 
would  be  eagerly  resorted  to  as  stations  whence  surrounding 
beauties  might  be  viewed  to  the  greatest  advantage.  Others,  like 
the  spots  of  verdure  in  an  African  desert,  contain  within  them- 
selves all  the  charms  they  have  to  boast.  The  happiest  situations 
combine  both  these  circumstances  ;  but  rarely  in  equal  propor- 
tions. Norbury-park,  naturally  a  sterile  soil,  has  been  rendered, 
chiefly  by  exquisite  skill  in  planting,  a  tine  object  in  itself;  but 
the  prospects  from  it  are  beauties  gratuitously  bestowed  upon  its 
local  situation,  which  perhaps  contribute  most  to  its  pre-emi- 
nence among  the  seats  in  its  neighbourhood.  From  the  houses 
and  the  whole  crest  of  the  eminence  on  which  it  is  placed,  suc- 
cessive views  open  of  the  subjacent  valley  and  the  remoter  dis- 
tances, scarcely  to  be  paralleled  for  their  gay  variety  and  finish- 
ed softness.  Northwards,  Leatherhead,  with  the  variegated 
country  beyond  it  extending  towards  Kingston  and  Epsom ; — 
directly  opposite,  the  charming  village  of  Mickelham,  backed  by 
its  fine  green  downs  ; — onwards  to  the  south-east,  the  seat  of  Sir 
Lucas  Pepys,  apparently  lying  upon  the  bosom  of  a  steep  pine- 
clad  hill,  of  truly  alpine  character ; — somewhat  further,  Box-hill, 
presenting  its  precipitous  side,  partly  disclosing  bare  and  craggy 
spots  of  chalk,  partly  clothed  with  its  proper  shrub,  of  peculiar  hue; 
— beyond  it,  the  richly  wooded  eminences  of  parks  and  seats  near 
Dorking,  bending  round  to  the  south,  and  terminating  an  interme- 
diate vale  of  perfect  beauty,divided  to  the  eye  bytheaid  of  planting 
into  separate  portions,  made  more  or  less  extensive  at  pleasure, 
and  forming  landscapes  which  I  should  have  called  singularly 
picturesque,  had  I  not  doubted  of  the  power  of  painting  to  give 
any  adequate  idea  of  scenes  lying  in  such  a  striking  manner  im- 
mediately beneath  the  sight.  Mr.  Gilpin,  in  his  late  Western 
Tour,  has  given  a  sketch  of  the  prospects  from  Norbury ;  and 
from  his  remarks  may  be  gathered  how  they  appear  to  an  eye  in 
search  of  the  true  picturesque.  I  believe,  however,  that  a  more 
untaught  spectator,  gratified  with  the  charms  of  nature,  without 
referring  them  to  a  remoter  test,  would  receive  from  them  a  purer 
delight.  Mr.  Locke's  celebrated  painted  room  is,  in  fact,  the 
subject  of  much  more  of  Mr.  Gilpin's  description  than  the  park 

31 


434  APPENDIX. 

itself.  This  room,  presenting  a  fine  landscape  on  each  of  its 
sides,  together  with  the  decorations  of  figures,  foliage,  flowers, 
&c.  is,  I  doubt  not,  an  extraordinary  work  of  art ;  but  placed  as 
it  is,  the  effect  upon  my  feelings  was  that  of  a  proof  of  the  infin- 
ite superiority  of  real  to  pictured  scenery ;  and  the  burst  ot 
splendour  poured  in  at  the  windows  almost  entirely  extinguish- 
ed to  my  eye  the  magic  lights  of  Barrett's  pencil.  I  could  not 
help  wishing,  that  the  cost  bestowed  upon  this  piece  of  painting- 
had  rather  been  devoted  to  some  architectural  ornaments  out  ot 
doors;  since  the  style  of  cultured  beauty  prevalent  in  Norbury- 
park  would,  in  my  opinion,  admit  with  advantage  a  judicious  in- 
termixture of  such  decoration,  though  it  cannot  be  said  abso- 
lutely to  require  it.  The  only  attempt  at  an  edifice  is  a  thatched 
plaster  building  with  green  window  shutters,  the  appearance  of 
which,  in  one  of  the  most  commanding  sites  of  the  park,  is,  in  my 
judgment,  wholly  incongruous.  And  there  is  nothing  in  which 
the  modern  English  taste  seems  to  me  so  faulty,  as  in  the  cus- 
tom of  placing  mean  and  rustic  buildings  in  the  midst  of  scenes 
certainly  not  intended  to  convey  the  idea  of  the  absence  of  art 
and  expense.  This  love  of  simplicity  has,  in  various  other  par- 
ticulars, injured  our  national  taste  ;  and  has  produced  incongrui- 
ties in  our  style  of  poetry  and  oratory,  as  well  as  in  our  external 
decorations. 

I  have  already  mentioned  Box-hill  as  the  other  great  feature 
of  the  vale  I  am  describing.  It  is  indeed  the  most  striking  ob- 
ject of  this  part  of  the  country,  and  best  known  as  a  popular  cu- 
riosity. It  comprehends  a  considerable  space,  being  composed 
of  three  or  four  smooth  green  ridges,  separated  from  each  other 
by  narrow  dells,  and  uniting  at  the  summit  into  one  lofty  wooded 
top.  On  the  side  facing  the  vale  of  Leatherhead,  its  descent  is 
not  much  short  of  perpendicular,  forming  a  kind  of  chalky  crag, 
naked  and  crumbling  where  not  bound  by  the  box  trees  and  other 
shrubs,  which  in  most  parts  give  it  a  rich  and  thick  covering.  Its 
foot  is  bathed  in  the  Mole,  abruptly  terminating  its  declivity, 
and  giving  it  a  fringe  of  aquatic  trees  and  verdant  meadows.  Its 
peculiarity  arises  from  its  resemblance  to  the  bold  broken  crags 
of  mountainous  countries  ;  which,  however,  it  only  holds  on  this 
side;  for  where  it  bends  round  to  join  the  Ryegate  ridge  of  chalk 
hills,  it  puts  on  the  same  rotundity  of  form  with  the  rest.  Its 
crest  affords  a  walk  uncommonly  striking;  winding  through  the 
plantations  of  box,  and  at  the  openings  affording  bird's  eye  views 


APPENDIX.  435 

of  all  the  charms,  as  well  as  of  the  Leatherhead  Vale,  as  of  that 
much  longer  one  in  which  the  former  terminates.  It  is  difficult 
to  determine  whether  this  romantic  hill  produces  a  greater  effect 
as  an  object  from  the  subjacent  vale,  or  as  a  station  for  a  pros- 
pect. The  point  of  view  whence  the  hill  itself  is  the  most  strik- 
ing spectacle,  is  from  the  very  elegant  cottage  and  grounds  of 
Mr.  Barclay,  seated  directly  beneath  it.  The  vast  perpendicular 
wall  of  verdure,  forming  a  side-skreen  to  those  grounds,  has  an 
effect  of  real  sublimity  as  well  as  uncommon  beauty  ;  and  a  simi- 
lar happy  circumstance  is  perhaps  scarcely  to  be  met  with  in  any 
other  ornamental  scene.  The  waters  of  the  Mole  are  commonly 
said  to  sink  into  the  ground  under  Box-hill.  No  interruption  of 
the  stream,  however  is  to  be  observed  at  the  foot  of  the  lull  it- 
self;  though  after  it  has  passed  Burford  bridge,  in  its  course 
through  Norbury-park,  there  are  several  such  interruptions. 

The  map  of  Surrey  will  show  a  remarkable  ridge  running 
across  the  county,  quite  from  the  border  of  Hampshire  to  Kent, 
near  the  centre  of  which  the  town  of  Dorking  is  situated.  This 
is  a  range  of  chalk  or  limestone  hills,  the  general  nature  and  ap- 
pearance of  which  I  have  already  described.  From  Dorking  it 
may  be  seen  running  on  one  hand  to  the  neighbourhood  of  Guil- 
ford,  on  the  other  beyond  Ryegate.  This  ridge  forms  one  side  or 
wall  of  a  long  valley.  It  is  for  the  most  part  naked,  and  of  steep 
ascent ;  broken  into  a  chain  of  separate  rounded  eminences,  and 
here  and  there  displaying  the  nature  of  its  soil  by  chalk  pits, 
which  have  been  opened  in  different  parts  of  it.  The  other  side 
of  the  valley  is  much  less  distinctly  marked,  consisting  of  scat- 
tered eminences,  approaching  or  receding,  mostly  clothed  with 
wood,  and  by  their  breaks  affording  frequent  openings  into  the 
southern  parts  of  Surrey.  The  vale,  however,  is,  upon  the  whole, 
sufficiently  marked  by  the  streams  which  run  along  it,  and  which 
are,  the  Mole,  coming  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Ryegate,  and 
turning  short  round  the  foot  of  Box-hill ;  Pitt-brook,  flowing  from 
the  west  under  Dorking,  and  at  length  terminating  in  the  Mole; 
and  another  brook  which  flows  in  a  contrary  direction  towards 
Guilford.  These  brooks  are  enlivened  by  a  number  of  mills; 
and  a  tract  of  verdant  meadows  accompanies  their  course. 

The  continuation  of  Box  hill  towards  Ryegate  consists  of 
naked  round  eminences,  the  sterile  appearance  of  wi.tc.i  serves 
as  a  striking  contrast  to  the  iic:.ne*s  of  tin-  val.  ^eiow.  The 
first  object  immediately  beneath  them  is  Beachvvorth  castle  and 


436  APPENDIX. 

park,  now  the  property  of Peters,  Esq.  This  is  an  an- 
cient seat,  chiefly  remarkable  for  the  noble  timber.belonging  to 
it.  Approaching  it  from  Dorking,  the  road  leads  through  an 
outer  park,  skirted  with  rows  of  old  chesnut  trees,  of  large  di- 
mensions, and  of  forms  which  perhaps  a  painter  would  rather 
denominate  grotesque  than  picturesque.  The  peculiar  manner 
in  which  this  tree  sends  oft'  its  branches,  making  elbows  and 
sharp  angles,  and  often  crossing  each  other  in  the  most  irregular 
lines,  gives  it  a  very  singular  character  :  but,  on  the  whole,  the 
chesnuts  of  Beachworth  impress  the  beholder  with  extraordina- 
ry ideas  of  gigantic  greatness.  The  inner  park,  at  the  extremity 
of  which  the  house  is  situated,  has  two  fine  avenues,  the  one  of 
elm  trees,  the  other  of  limes,  the  tallest  I  ever  beheld.  This 
last  is  a  triple  avenue,  resembling  the  nave  of  a  cathedral,  but 
greatly  surpassing  in  grandeur  the  works  of  human  hands.  The 
trees  touch  each  other  with  their  branches,  forming  on  the  out- 
side a  vast  screen,  or  wall  of  verdure.  Within,  the  branches, 
meeting  at  a  great  height  in  the  air  from  the  opposite  sides  of 
the  rows,  form  Gothic  arches,  and  exclude  every  ray  of  the  me- 
ridian sun.  I  never  felt  a  stronger  impression  of  awful  gloom 
than  on  entering  these  solemn  walks  in  the  dusk  of  evening. 
The  river  Mole,  washing  the  edge  of  Beachworth  park,  has  in 
some  parts  a  respectable  breadth,  and  is  beautifully  shaded  with 
aquatic  trees  and  bushes. 

A  very  little  to  the  south  of  Beachworth  park  lies  Chart,  the 
pleasing  seat  and  grounds  of  Mrs.  Cornwall.  The  former  inha- 
bitant was  Abraham  Tucker,  Esq.  well  known  for  his  acute  me- 
taphysical writings,  under  the  name  of  Search.  Chart  park  is  of 
no  great  extent ;  but  the  ground  in  it  is  strikingly  varied  in  its 
surface,  and  has  been  planted  with  great  taste.  Its  steep  sum- 
mits are  crowned  with  trees  of  various  kinds.  The  house,  a  plain 
white  building,  lies  low.  Close  behind  it  the  ground  rises  ab- 
ruptly to  a  terrace,  planted  with  aline  of  beeches,  and  affording 
fine  views  of  the  adjacent  country.  Some  remarkably  large  plane 
trees  decorate  the  slope  ;  and  on  one  hand  is  a  rookery  on  the 
top  of  some  lofty  pines.  Mrs.  Cornwall  cultivates  many  curious 
plants,  and  her  shrubbery  is  furnished  with  some  beautiful  exo- 
tics in  high  perfection.  Joining  to  Chart  park,  on  the  side  of 
Dorking,  are  the  elegant  woods  and  grounds  of  the  house  of 
Lady  Burrell,  a  large  modern  brick  edifice,  which  forms  a  con- 
spicuous object  in  the  views  of  that  town.  The  series  of  irregu- 


APPENDIX.  437 

lar  heights  which  compose  the  southern  side  of  the  vale  formerly 
mentioned,  next  leads  to  an  eminence  marked  by  a  clump  of 
firs,  and  commonly  called  Darking's  Glory.  This  is  a  very  happy 
station  for  a  prospect,  commanding  not  only  the  vales  of  Lea- 
therhead  and  Dorking,  but  a  long  tract  of  the  southern  part  of 
Surrey,  extending  to  the  borders  of  Sussex.  Passing  westwards, 
behind  the  town  of  Dorking,  the  chain  of  elevated  ground  leads 
to  Berry  hill,  a  seat  belonging  to  Lord  Grimston,  now  in  the 
occupancy  of  George  Shum,  Esq.  Alow  ridge  of  hill,  loosely 
planted  with  wood,  terminates  in  a  thick  dark  fir  plantation,  just 
behind  which,  fronting  the  south,  stands  the  house.  This  is  an 
edifice  of  more  show  and  architectural  pretention  than  those  of 
the  other  seats  in  the  neighbourhood  ;  and  by  the  complete  shel- 
ter it  receives  from  the  north  and  east,  and  its  exposure  to  a 
southern  sun,  must  enjoy  a  full  share  of  all  the  warmth  this  cli- 
mate can  boast.  Before  it  is  a  handsome  piece  of  water,  artifi- 
cially made  at  great  cost ;  and  beyond,  the  view  terminates  in 
some  bold  eminences  crowned  with  fir  and  larch.  The  charac- 
ter of  this  seat  is  elegance  united  with  the  true  English  charm 
of  snugness.  It  seems  rather  calculated  for  the  enjoyment  of 
the  owner,  than  the  gaze  of  the  spectator. 

About  a  mile  westward  from  hence,  on  the  lower  Guilford 
road,  is  the  Rookery,  the  villa  of  Richard  Fuller,  Esq.  This  de- 
lightful place  occupies  one  of  those  dells  which  descend  from 
the  south  into  the  long  vale  we  have  above  described,  each  serv- 
ing as  the  bed  of  a  little  stream.  The  imagination  can  scarcely 
conceive  a  scene  of  the  kind  more  complete  than  this.  The  dell, 
at  a  distance,  appears  like  a  break  or  chasm  between  two  hills, 
entirely  filled  with  wood.  On  entering  it,  however,  there  is 
found  to  be  room  for  a  sweet  verdant  meadow,  containing  a 
stream  which  descends  in  several  little  falls  (rather  too  artifi- 
cial) and  turns  a  mill  near  the  house.  The  house  itself,  a  plain 
white  building  in  a  kind  of  antique  style  of  architecture,  stands 
upon  a  sloping  bank,  having  directly  opposite  to  it  a  bold  emi- 
nence finely  planted  with  trees,  and  subsiding  in  a  green  lawn. 
The  stream,  now  widened,  runs  between ;  and,  a  little  higher, 
expands  into  an  extensive  pool,  shaded  on  all  sides  with  trees 
and  shrubs  to  the  water's  edge,  and  winding  out  of  sight.  A  nar- 
row strip  of  green  lawn  bordering  the  water,  spreading  at  length 
into  a  small  meadow,  forms  all  the  rest  of  the  grounds  which  is 
not  occupied  with  wood.  Plantations  of  beeches  and  other  tall 


438  APPENDIX. 

timber  trees  fill  the  remaining  space,  insulating  (as  it  were)  the 
whole  with  a  belt  of  forest  scenery,  and  securing  to  it  a  character 
of  coolness  and  sequestered  retreat,  which  no  other  place  that  I 
have  seen  possesses  in  an  equal  degree.  The  hottest  and  most 
sunny  season  of  the  year  seems  the  time  for  enjoying  this  place 
to  full  advantage.  In  dark  and  chilly  weather,  it  must  probably 
appear  to  super-abound  with  shade  and  moisture ;  yet  the  site 
of  the  house  is  tolerably  cheerful  and  open. 

A  little  to  the  south-west  of  the  Rookery,  another  dell  de- 
scends in  the  same  direction,  called  by  the  appropriate  name  of 
Valley  Lonesome.  This  is  occupied  by  the  house  and  grounds 
of  Mr.  Haynes,  and  presents  a  scene  considerably  different  from, 
any  yet  described.  The  house,  an  elegant  piece  of  architecture,  ap- 
pears, by  a.  jet  cPeuu  playing  in  front,  with  two  equidistant  bridges, 
and  various  ornamental  appendages,  disposed  with  perfect  cor- 
respondence and  regularity,  to  have  been  planned  before  the  mo- 
dern taste  of  rural  decoration  took  place.  The  stream  flowing 
through  the  valley  is  made  to  put  on  a  variety  of  forms  in  ba- 
sins, falls,  channels,  &c.  which  are  rather  trifling;  but  a  cascade, 
really  of  some  effect,  bursts  out  from  a  high  bank  which  borders 
the  vale,  though  the  steps  or  ledges  down  which  the  water  is 
made  to  fall,  and  the  round  stone  basin  which  at  last  receives  it, 
give  it  too  formal  an  appearance.  The  general  character  of  Val- 
ley Lonesome  is  gay  and  cheerful  notwithstanding  its  seques- 
tered situation.  Its  upper  end  terminates  in  that  wild  tract, 
which,  at  length  becoming  a  black  naked  moor,  rises  into  the 
celebrated  Leith  Hill.  The  ascent  on  this  side  is  very  gentle ; 
and  the  elevation  would  scarcely  be  suspected,  were  it  not  for 
the  very  extensive  prospect  that  bursts  on  the  sight  at  the  fur- 
ther extremity.  A  tower,  now  in  a  ruinous  state,  marks  the  spot 
most  favourable  for  the  view.  The  southern  part  of  Surrey,  and 
a  vast  reach  into  Kent  and  Sussex,  particularly  the  latter  coun- 
ty, bounded  by  the  line  of  elevated  downs,  compose  the  field  of 
this  extensive  prospect,  which  is  rather  striking  from  its  extent 
alone,  than  from  any  peculiar  beauty  or  singularity  of  the  de- 
tached parts.  A  flat  and  tolerably  wooded  country  reaches  to 
the  downs ;  which  last  afford  a  wavy  horizon,  broken  in  some 
places  by  gaps  j  through  one  of  which  the  sea,  near  Shoreham, 
may  in  clear  weather  be  discerned  by  the  aid  of  a  glass.  In  a 
line  with  Leith  hill  are  other  high  moors,  stretching  away  to  the 
western  side  of  Surrey.  Returning  from  Leith  hill,  a  long  and 


APPENDIX.  439 

singular  avenue  of  firs,  planted  in  small  clumps  at  regular  dis- 
tances, leads  to  the  main  valley  we  have  left,  by  the  back  of  the 
noble  woods  and  plantations  surrounding  the  seat  of  Sir  Frede- 
rick Evelyn  at  Watton.  The  seat  itself  is  an  ordinary  house, 
strangely  placed  in  a  bottom ;  but  few  mansions  can  boast  of  such 
an  imposing  accompaniment  of  lofty  groves  and  thick  woods,  fill- 
ing and  characterising  a  large  tract  of  land. 

In  order  to  bring  our  tour  round  Dorking  within  moderate 
compass,  we  will  now  take  our  course  from  Sir  Frederick's 
straight  to  the  chalky  ridge  we  have  so  long  left ;  and  ascend- 
ing it,  proceed  over  Ranmer  common  to  Denbeighs,  the  seat  of 
Mr.  Denison,  impending  over  the  town  of  Dorking,  to  which  it 
affords  one  of  its  most  conspicuous  objects.  This  house  was 
built  by  Mr.  Tyers,  first  proprietor  of  Vauxhall,  who  transport- 
ed to  it  many  of  the  ideas  of  his  public  gardens,  dark  walks,  tem- 
ples, theatrical  deceptions,  ruins,  monuments,  and  the  like.  These 
have  been  mostly  removed,  or  suffered  to  go  to  decay ;  but  there 
remains  on  one  side  of  the  house  a  fine  green  terrace,  backed 
with  trees  ;  and  on  the  other  a  close  plantation  of  considerable 
extent,  crowning  the  verge  of  the  hill.  Though  taste  has  done 
much  less  for  this  place  than  for  Norbury  park,  yet  it  may  be 
questioned,  whether  its  site  be  not  equally  advantageous,  and 
the  prospect  it  commands  equally  striking,  with  respect  to  va- 
riety and  beauty.  Almost  all  the  places  we  have  been  describing 
lie  within  its  view  ;  to  which  may  be  added  the  town  of  Dork- 
ing, and  all  the  lesser  charms  of  the  subjacent  valley.  Its  de- 
scent to  Dorking  is  very  steep;  and  the  road  passes  by  some  ex- 
tensive chalk-pits,  which  are  continually  wrought,  and  furnish  a 
lime  in  great  esteem  for  its  property  of  hardening  under  water. 

It  would  be  easy  to  enlarge  the  list  of  beautiful  scenes  in  this 
neighbourhood,  all  within  the  reach  of  a  morning's  walk  or  ride, 
and  affording  a  source  of  daily  variety  for  several  weeks.  The 
purity  of  the  air,  the  fragrance  from  an  exuberance  of  aromatic 
plants  and  shrubs,  the  music  from  numberless  birds,  the  choice 
of  sheltered  or  open  country,  the  liberty  of  wandering  without 
obstacle  or  question  through  the  most  cultured  scenes,  and  the 
perfect  repose  which  reigns  all  around,  unite  to  render  this  tract 
of  country  one  of  the  most  delightful  to  the  contemplative  man, 
and  the  most  salutary  to  the  invalid,  that  I  have  ever  visited. 


440  APPENDIX. 


(D.  p.  134.) 
BIOGRAPHICAL  ACCOUNT 


OF  THE 


LATE   DR.   PULTENEY. 


RICHARD  PULTENEY,  M.D.  F.R.S.  L.  and  E.  was  born  in 
the  year  1730,  at  Loughborough,  in  Leicestershire.  His  parents 
had  thirteen  children,  of  whom  he  alone  arrived  at  the  age  of 
maturity.  From  early  youth  he  was  of  a  delicate  habit,  and 
supposed  to  be  inclined  to  a  consumption;  and  it  was  by  means 
o-f  rigid  temperance,  which  he  observed  during  his  whole  life, 
that  he  maintained  himself  in  a  tolerable  state  of  health.  He 
has  recorded  (in  Mr.  Nichols's  History  of  Leicestershire,)  his  ob- 
ligations to  his  uncle,  Mr.  George  Tomlinson,  of  Hathern,  who 
possessed  some  property  in  that  village,  and  adorned  an  obscure 
station  with  virtue  and  science.  "  Those  (says  Dr.  Pulteney) 
who  remember  and  intimately  knew  the  subject  of  this  memoir, 
will  not,  it  is  believed,  judge  it  otherwise  than  impartial,  though, 
confessedly,  a  tribute  from  his  nearest  relative,  one  who  reveres 
his  memory  with  the  truest  affection,  who,  through  the  early  stage 
of  life,  received  from  him,  as  from  a  father,  the  genuine  dictates 
of  wisdom,  virtue,  and  religion  ;  all  of  which  were  truly  exem- 
plified in  his  own  conduct  throughout  the  whole  of  his  life." 
From  this  relation  he  imbibed  his  taste  for  botanical  studies ;  and 
it  was  probably  through  his  instigation  that  he  was  destined  to 
the  medical  profession. 

The  youth's  first  situation  in  a  professional  capacity  was  that 
of  apprentice  to  an  apothecary  in  Loughborough;  an  humble 
school,  which,  however,  his  industry  and  talent  for  observation 
were  able  to  render  instructive.  He  passed  through  the  usual 
course  of  a  country  education,  and  then  complied  with  an  invi- 
tation to  settle  at  Leicester.  That  town,  like  most  provincial 


APPENDIX.  441 

capitals,  was  divided  into  two  political  and  religious  parties ; 
and  it  was  that  of  the  dissenters  (to  which  his  parents  belonged) 
whence  Mr.  Pulteney  received  his  support.  His  sphere  was  still 
further  narrowed,  by  the  limitation  of  practising  only  as  an  apo- 
thecary ;  for  it  was  thought  due  to  the  consequence  of  the  party, 
to  possess  a  surgeon  of  their  own  as  a  separate  professional  cha- 
racter, which  office  was  filled  by  Mr.  Cogan,  a  man  of  merit  and 
agreeable  manners. 

Few  remarks  can  be  necessary  on  the  hardship  of  placing  per- 
sons of  abilities  and  liberal  sentiments  in  situations  so  unfavour- 
able to  the  acquirement  of  that  reputation  and  those  emoluments 
which  are  justly  due  to  professional  superiority ;  and  in  which 
they  must  be  reduced  to  an  unworthy  and  degrading  dependence 
upon  a  few  party-leaders. 

Mr.  Pulteney  was  of  a  timid  and  cautious  disposition ;  and, 
though  his  mind  was  by  no  means  formed  for  shackles,  his  tem- 
per was  not  firm  enough  to  enable  him  effectually  to  assert  his 
freedom.  It  would  be  an  unpleasant  task  to  dwell  upon  the 
share  he  had  in  those  "  scorns  which  patient  merit  of  the  unwor- 
thy takes ;"  or  of  the  struggle  he  maintained  with  narrow  cir- 
cumstances, which  obliged  him  to  contract  habits  of  rigid  econ- 
omy rendered  more  necessary  by  the  passion  for  buying  books, 
to  which  he  was  content  to  sacrifice  every  other  inclination.  Sci- 
ence was,  indeed,  his  great  resource  under  the  discouragements 
of  his  situation,  and  it  eventually  proved  the  means  of  raising 
him  from  obscurity.  To  his  private  friends  he  was  known  as  one 
who  had  inquired  largely  and  thought  freely  on  a  variety  of  to- 
pics. To  the  public  he  first  appeared  as  a  votary  of  the  pleasing 
study  of  botany.  He  became  a  correspondent  of  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine  at  an  early  period  ;  and  communicated  to  it,  anony- 
mously, a  series  of  valuable  letters  concerning  the  poisonous 
plants  of  this  country,  and  a  dissertation  on  Fungi,  contained  in 
the  xxvth  volume  of  that  miscellany.  To  the  same  publication 
he  sent,  in  1757,  a  translation  of  a  curious  paper  in  the  Upsal 
Amopnitates  Jlcademicx  on  "  the  Sleep  of  Plants."  This  subject 
he  pursued  more  at  large  in  a  paper  inserted  in  the  fiftieth  vol- 
ume of  the  Philosophical  Transactions,  for  1758,  entitled  "Ob- 
servations on  the  Sleep  of  Plants,  with  an  enumeration  of  several 
Plants  which  are  subject  to  that  Law."  He  had  before  appeared 
among  the  contributors  to  the  Philosophical  Transactions  by  a 
*'  Catalogue  of  the  rare  Plants  of  Leicestershire,  with  Botanical 
3K 


442  APPENDIX. 

and  Medical  Observations;"  vol.  xlix.  for  1756.  This  paper  he 
gave  to  Mr,  Nichols,  in  an  improved  state,  in  1795,  who  has  in- 
serted it  in  the  first  volume  of  his  history  of  that  county.  In 
1758  he  printed,  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  a  translation  from 
the  same  Amoenitates,  of  the  instructive  paper  entitled  "  Pan 
Suecus,"  giving  a  catalogue  of  plants  which,  from  experiment, 
were  found  to  be  either  chosen  or  rejected  as  food  by  the  differ- 
ent species  of  domestic  quadrupeds.  This  he  adapted  more  par- 
ticularly to  English  readers  by  referring  to  English  authors;  and 
he  subjoined  to  it  some  notes  and  observations.  Its  utility  caus- 
ed him  afterwards  to  annex  it,  in  a  more  enlarged  form,  to  his 
"View  of  the  Writings  of  Linnseus." 

He  distinguished  himself  in  a  manner  more  purely  professional 
by  a  paper  published  in  the  Philosophical  Transactions,  vol.  Hi.  for 
1761,  giving  an  account  of  a  singular  medical  case  attended  with 
palpitation  of  the  heart  and  other  uncommon  symptoms,  and 
which,  upon  dissection,  exhibited  a  preternatural  enlargement  of 
that  organ.  In  1762,  he  received  the  honour  of  being  elected  a 
fellow  of  the  Royal  Society.  His  name  was  now  associated  to 
those  of  men  of  science  in  various  departments  ;  and  his  personal 
merits  were  becoming  known  to  a  wider  circle  of  acquaintance, 
to  whom  he  was  endeared  by  his  modest  worth,  and  the  good 
sense  and  discretion  which  peculiarly  characterised  him.  Nor 
can  it  be  doubted,  that,  even  with  his  original  disadvantages  of 
situation,  he  would  have  attained  a  respectable  share  of  business 
at  Leicester,  though  still  in  that  inferior  branch  of  the  profes- 
sion on  which  he  had  at  first  entered,  to  which,  however,  he  had 
added  the  practice  of  midwifery.  But  it  was  his  lot  to  possess 
a  friend  whose  ardent  and  enterprising  spirit  was  an  admirable 
corrective  of  his  own  diffidence,  and  who  esteemed  him  too  much 
to  acquiesce  in  his  continuing  in  a  rank  and  employment  beneath 
his  merits.  This  was  Mr.  Maxwell  Gurthshore,  then  eminent  in 
medical  practice  at  Uppingham,  in  Rutlandshire.  By  means  of 
a  common  friend,  much  revered  by  both,  they  were  made  ac- 
quainted in  the  year  1758,  and  this  acquaintance  soon  ripened 
into  a  warmth  of  friendship  which  death  alone  could  extinguish. 
As  it  was,  Mr.  Garthshare's  own  plan,  after  a  residence  for  some 
years  at  Uppingham,  to  take  the  degree  of  doctor  at  Edinburgh, 
where  he  had  received  his  medical  education,  he  strongly  urged 
Mr.  Palteney  to  accompany  him  thither,  and  offer  himself  to  the 
examinations  of  the  university,  though  he  had  never  enjoyed  the 


APPENDIX.  445 

advantage  of  academical  instruction  there  or  elsewhere.  His 
reluctance  was  at  length  overcome ;  and  the  two  friends  set  out 
upon  their  expedition  in  the  spring  of  1764.  Mi.  Pulteney  was 
already  known  by  reputation  at  Edinburgh,  particularly  to  Dr. 
Hope,  the  professor  of  Botany  ;  and  he  had  the  benefit  of  his 
companion's  extensive  connections  in  the  place.  He  pa  sed 
through  all  the  necessary  preliminaries  with  credit,  and  in  May 
received  the  honours  of  graduation.  The  subject  of  his  inaugu- 
ral dissertation  was  "  De  Cinchona,"  or,  On  the  Peruvian  Bark  ; 
of  the  natural  and  medical  history  of  which  important  article  he 
gave  a  very  satisfactory  and  instructive  account.  The  botanical 
description  is  particularly  accurate,  and  is  illustrated  by  a  plate; 
and  his  Thesis  has  been  thought  worthy  of  re-printing  in  a  col- 
lection of  the  most  valuable  compositions  of  the  kind  which  the 
medical  school  of  Edinburgh  has  produced. 

A  circumstance  relative  to  his  graduation,  honourable  to  him- 
self, but  affording  matter  of  reflection  relative  to  the  conduct  of 
public  bodies,  ought  not  to  be  passed  over  in  silence.  The  uni- 
versity of  Edinburgh  had  now  fora  considerable  time  been  rising 
in  reputation  as  a  school  of  medicine,  and  its  degrees  in  that  fa- 
culty became  of  course  more  and  more  respectable.  It  is  well 
known  that  the  universities  of  Scotland,  modelled  upon  those  of 
the  continent,  have  adopted  the  practice  of  conferring  degrees 
upon  examination,  without  requiring  in  the  candidates  a  pre- 
vious residence  in  their  own  seminary,  or,  indeed,  in  any  other. 
In  some  of  them  the  examination  itself  has  been  dispensed  with, 
and  the  requested  distinction  has  been  bestowed  upon  persons 
at  a  distance,  in  consequence  of  mere  recommendation.  It  is  no 
wonder  that  such  a  laxity  should  have  thrown  occasional  discredit 
upon  academical  honours  ;  nor  that  the  public  should  have  been 
prone  to  confound  the  degrees  conferred  at  universities  similarly 
constituted,  in  one  general  note  of  disesteem.  The  Edinburgh 
medical  students  justly  considered  themselves  entitled  to  be  re- 
gardfd  among  those  of  the  profession  who  had  received  the 
greatest  advantages  of  education,  and  were  the  most  deserving 
of  those  testimonials  of  competency  which  titular  distinctions 
imply.  They  had  therefore  begun  to  remonstrate  against  a  mode 
of  conferring  degrees  which  might  confound  them  with  persons 
altogether  unworthy  of  the  honour ;  and  their  discontent  had 
been  aggravated  by  some  late  instances  of  notorious  incapacity 
in  Edinburgh  doctors  by  favour.  Thinking  their  complaints  not 


444  APPENDIX. 

sufficiently  attended  to,  some  of  the  students  of  the  longest 
standing  had  entered  into  a  mutual  engagement  publicly  to  op- 
pose every  future  attempt  at  decorating  with  the  degree  of  doc- 
tor of  physic  at  Edinburgh  any  person  who  should  not  have  stu- 
died there,  and  to  take  their  own  degrees  elsewhere  in  case  their 
opposition  should  prove  unsuccessful. 

It  happened  that  Mr.  Pultaney  was  the  first  candidate  under 
these  circumstances,  after  this  resolution  was  adopted.  The  sub- 
scribers handsomely  expressed  to  him  their  concern  that  a  per- 
son of  his  acknowledged  merit  should  be  the  object  of  their  op- 
position ;  but  they  adhered  to  their  determination.  His  reputation 
and  interest  carried  him  through  the  contest;  but  he  was  (I  be- 
lieve) the  last  in  favour  of  whom  the  condition  of  studying  at 
that  individual  seminary  has  been  violated.  And  so  sensible 
have  the  Edinburgh  professors  since  become,  that  augmenting 
the  credit  of  their  university's  degrees,  and  the  difficulty  of  ob- 
taining them,  was  conducive  to  their  own  personal  emolument, 
that  they  have  extended  the  period  of  requisite  study  there  from 
two  to  three  years,  and  made  it  comprehend  every  set  of  lec- 
tures which  can  possibly  be  construed  as  belonging  to  a  complete 
medical  course  ! 

As  Dr.  Pulteney  had  now  assumed  a  new  rank  in  the  profes- 
sion, it  was  advisable  that  he  should  look  out  for  a  new  situation. 
The  first  plan  which  suggested  itself  to  his  London  friends,  was 
to  procure  him  an  introduction  to  the  celebrated  earl  of  Bath, 
then  in  a  very  declining  state  of  health.  This  was  effected  ;  and 
the  earl,  upon  inspection  of  his  pedigree,  recognised  his  descent 
from  the  ancient  family  of  which  his  own  was  a  branch.  He  also, 
upon  conversing  with  him,  was  so  favourably  impressed  with  his 
professional  and  literary  merits,  that  he  resolved  to  attach  him 
to  himself  in  the  character  of  domestic  physician.  He  proposed 
to  settle  upon  him  an  appointment  of  400/.  per  annum  ;  and  the 
connection  would  probably  have  been  attended  with  mutual  sa- 
tisfaction and  advantage,  had  not  the  death  of  the  earl  followed 
so  speedily  that  Dr.  Pulteney  received  only  one  quarterly  ad- 
vance of  his  intended  salary. 

Not  long  after  this  event,  a  medical  vacancy  happening  at 
Blandford,  in  Dorsetshire,  he  was  urged  by  Dr.  Watson,  Dr. 
Baker,  and  others  of  his  friends,  to  go  down  and  occupy  it. 
Provided  with  their  warm  recommendations,  but  an  utter  stran- 
ger to  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  and  its  vicinity,  he  fixed 


APPENDIX.  445 

his  abode  in  that  spot  which  was  to  be  his  residence  during  the 
whole  remainder  of  his  life.  A  small  country  to,wn,  in  the  midst 
of  a  neighbourhood  composed  of  the  usual  ingredients  of  provin- 
cial society,  was  not,  perhaps,  exactly  the  situation  most  desira- 
ble to  a  man  whose  mind  was  enlarged  by  free  speculation  and 
scientific  pursuit :  but  it  was  now  Dr.  Pulteney's  business  to  es- 
tablish himself  in  his  professon  ;  and  to  that  object,  prudence 
required  that  sacrifices  should  be  made.  This  is,  indeed,  the 
condition  of  all  who  have  their  way  to  make  in  the  world  ;  and 
perhaps  a  just  sense  of  true  dignity  of  character,  as  well  as  re- 
gard to  pecuniary  advantage,  should  lead  a  man  to  place  before 
him,  as  his  primary  object,  the  attainment  of  success  in  the  pro 
fession  which  he  has  chosen  ;  and  to  consider  as  secondary  and 
subordinate  all  reputation  or  gratification  derived  from  other 
sources.  Dr.  Pulteney,  therefore,  seems  to  have  sat  down  with 
the  resolution,  not  only  of  fulfilling  his  medical  duties  with  the 
utmost  punctuality,  but  of  avoiding  every  thing  which  might  in 
the  least  degree  involve  him  in  differences  with  those  on  whose 
good  opinion  he  was  to  depend.  He  was  sensible  that  by  his 
removal  he  had  entirely  changed  his  latitude  ;  and  though  he  was 
not  a  man  to  shift  his  sentiments  and  language  according  to  his 
company,  yet  he  was  constitutionally  cautious,  and  could,  with- 
out much  effort,  practise  the  allowable  policy  of  silence.  "Com- 
mune with  thy  heart  and  be  still,"  was  the  maxim  of  36  years  oi 
his  life.  That  it  exerted  its  natural  influence  upon  his  charac- 
ter, will  not  be  denied ;  but  it  did  not  prevent  him  from  being  a 
very  amiable,  useful,  and  respectable  member  of  society. 

The  situation  of  Blandford  had  not  hitherto  afforded  any  great 
scope  for  medical  practice ;  but  Dr.  Pulteney  soon  extended  its 
limits.  His  reputation  spread  through  the  circumjacent  country, 
and  he  received  professional  calls  from  the  market  and  trading 
towns  in  a  compass  of  twenty  or  thirty  miles  round  his  centre, 
as  well  as  from  many  of  the  country  families  of  principal  dis- 
tinction in  that  part  of  the  kingdom.  As  his  industry  was  great, 
and  his  expenses  were  moderate,  he  began  to  accumulate  pro- 
perty. He.  continued  to  live  in  a  state  of  celibacy  till  October 
1779,  when  he  married  Miss  Elizabeth  Galton,  of  Blandford.  He 
could  not  have  chosen  more  fortunately  for  domestic  happiness ; 
and  the  addition  this  connection  made  to  his  comforts  was  pro- 
portionable to  the  want  he  had  previously  felt  of  that  society 
which  alone  can  intere^  the  heart.  No  children  were  the  fruit 


446  APPENDIX. 

of  this  union  ;  but  in  the  additional  society  of  an  amiable  young 
relation  of  Mrs;  Pulteney  he  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  an  adoptive 
parent. 

He  continued  to  employ  his  leisure  in  occasional  writings  on 
topics  of  medicine  and  natural  history.  In  1772  he  addressed  a 
letter  to  his  friend  Dr.  Watson  (published  in  the  Philosophical 
Transactions,  vol.  Ixii.)  concerning  the  medicinal  effects  of  the 
(Enanthe  crocata,  an  unbelliferous  plant  of  a  poisonous  nature, 
the  juice  of  which  was  exhibited,  by  mistake,  instead  of  that  of 
the  water-parsnep.  In  the  Ixviiith  volume  of  the  same  collec- 
tion, for  1778,  he  gave  an  accurate  account  of  the  bills  of  mortali- 
ty for  the  parish  of  Blandford  during  forty  years  past,  with  ob- 
servations. To  the  London  Medical  Journal,  vol.  v.  he  commu- 
nicated an  account  of  the  poisonous  effects  of  the  Hemlock  Drop- 
wort  (the  (Enanthe  crocata  above  mentioned.) 

He  had  hitherto  appeared  as  an  author  only  in  detached  me- 
moirs inserted  in  periodical  publications.  But  in  1781  he  ven- 
tured to  offer  to  the  public  a  separate  volume,  on  a  subject,  indeed, 
with  which  no  man  could  claim  a  more  intimate  acquaintance. 
This  was  "A  General  View  of  the  Writings  of  Linnaeus,''  8vo. 
The  purpose  of  this  work  was  to  afford  an  exact  synopsis  of  all 
the  labours  of  the  great  Swedish  naturalist,  who  appears  to  have 
been  the  object  of  his  warmest  admiration.  Along  with  the  ac- 
count of  his  works,  memoirs  of  his  life  are  interwoven,  chiefly 
extracted  from  the  different  writings  of  Linnaeus.  In  the  pre- 
fatory advertisement  Dr.  Pulteney  speaks  with  great  modesty 
of  his  performance,  which,  however,  was  very  well  received  by 
the  friends  of  natural  history,  and  obtained  for  him  the  present  of 
a  medal  from  Stockholm,  as  an  acknowledgment  of  the  justice 
he  had  done  to  the  fame  of  the  illustrious  Swede.  Many  ju- 
dicious observations  and  valuable  points  of  information  are 
interspersed  in  the  work.  It  concludes  with  a  synoptical  ac- 
count of  all  the  papers  contained  in  the  first  seven  volumes  of 
the  Jlmwnitates  Jlcademicae. 

Some  years  afterwards  a  more  extensive  and  original  work 
proceeded  from  Dr.  Pulteney's  pen,  and  which  must  have  cost 
him  much  varied  research  in  its  composition.  This  was  his 
"  Historical  and  Biographical  Sketches  of  the  Progress  of  Bota- 
ny in  England,  from  its  Origin  to  the  Introduction  of  the  Lin- 
neean  System  ;"  2  vols.  8vo.  1790.  He  paid  a  just  tribute  to 
scientific  merit  in  dedicating  the  first  volume  of  this  perform- 


APPENDIX.  447 

ance  to  Sir  Joseph  Banks ;  and  a  grateful  return  to  long  friend- 
ship, in  inscribing  the  second  to  Sir  George  Baker  arid  Dr. 
Garthshore.  The  work  itself  is  highly  valuable,  as  an  example 
of  that  union  of  the  history  of  men  with  that  of  an  object  of  their 
common  pursuit,  \\hich  is  so  peculiarly  interesting  and  instruc- 
tive. It  has  likewise  made  an  addition  to  national  biography, 
which  will  be  duly  prized  by  those  who  are  attached  to  their 
country's  reputation.  It  is  marked  throughout  with  that  can- 
dour and  disposition  to  commend  which  always  characterised 
the  amiable  author. 

Whilst  he  was  thus  tracing  the  progress  of  his  favourite 
science  in  books,  he  was  by  no  means  inattentive  to  the  volume 
of  nature  as  it  lay  displayed  before  him.  The  county  in  which 
he  resided  is  considerably  furnished  with  objects  worthy  the 
notice  of  the  naturalist,  especially  in  the  fossil  kingdom.  How 
well  he  had  made  himself  acquainted  with  these  treasures,  the 
present  writer  obtained  a  proof,  which  laid  him  undersa  parti- 
cular obligation.  This  was  a  brief  but  masterly  account  of  the 
products  of  Dorsetshire,  communicated  to  him  for  the  use  of  his 
little  work,  entitled  "  England  Delineated."  He  afterwards  en- 
riched the  second  edition  of  Mr.  Hutchins's  "  History  of  Dor- 
setshire" with  a  catalogue  of  the  birds,  shells,  and  plants  ob- 
served in  that  county  ;  and  during  his  last  illness  he  had  under 
revisal  a  plate  of  Dorsetshire  fossils  communicated  by  himself. 
The  formation  of  a  musseum  was  the  amusement  of  many  years 
of  his  life.  By  gradual  additions,  he  accumulated  a  store  of  na- 
tural productions  in  various  classes,  which  was  to  him  a  perpetual 
source  of  pleasing  contemplation,  and  will,  doubtless,  become  to 
many  students  of  nature  a  means  of  instruction,  in  the  possession 
of  the  Linnsean  Society,  to  which  it  was  bequeathed. 

Dr.  Pulteney,  in  his  latter  years,  frequently  expressed  a  wish 
to  retire  from  business,  and  take  up  his  residence  in  the  metro- 
polis, for  the  sake  of  the  scientific  advantages  with  which  it  is  so 
amply  furnished  ;  but  his  habits  of  life  were  become  too  strong 
to  permit  him  to  resolve  upon  so  great  a  change.  He  continued, 
though  with  diminished  ardour,  to  follow  his  professional  avo- 
cations, till  he  was  attacked  with  a  pleuritic  complaint,  which, 
after  great  sufferings,  put  a  period  to  his  existence  on  October 
13th,  1801,  at  the  age  of  71. 

By  his  last  will  he  gave  a  signal  proof  of  the  deep  impression 
which  his  early  friendships  had  made  upon  his  mind,  and  which 


148  APPENDIX. 

no  subsequent  connections  of  common  acquaintance  could  obli- 
terate or  equal.  After  a  handsome  provision  for  those  who  on 
every  account  were  entitled  to  the  first  place  in  his  remem- 
brance, the  remaining  objects  of  his  liberality  were  some  of  the 
friends  of  his  early  days,  and  even  the  sons  of  those  friends.  He 
likewise  paid  a  due  attention  to  the  claims  of  charity  by  be- 
quests to  the  Salisbury,  Leicester,  and  Edinburgh  infirmaries, 
and  to  the  poor  of  the  parish  of  Blandford  ;  and  he  displayed  his 
regard  to  science  by  similar  bounties  to  the  Royal  Societies  of 
London  and  Edinburgh,  and  to  the  Linnsean  Society. 

Such  are  the  brief  memoirs  which  I  have  been  able  to  collect 
concerning  Dr.  Pulteney ;  whose  life  affords,  indeed,  but  little 
biographical  variety,  but  presents  an  encouraging  picture  of  mo- 
dest merit  gradually  making  its  way  to  success,  and  science 
even  of  the  most  retired  kind,  becoming  the  passport  to  public 
esteem  and  reputation. 


APPENDIX.  449 


(E.  p.  isr.) 

MEMOIR 


OF 


GILBERT  WAKEFIELD,  B.  A. 


LITERATURE  has  sustained  a  severe  loss  by  the  death  of 
Gilbert  Wakefield,  B.  A.,  carried  off  by  a  fever,  in  the  46th  year 
of  his  age,  to  the  unspeakable  regret  of  his  family  and  friends. 
A  person  in  various  respects  so  distinguished,  is  a  proper  sub- 
ject for  the  contemplation  of  survivors  ;  and  he  had  deserved  too 
well  of  the  public  not  to  be  entitled  to  honourable  and  affection- 
ate commemoration. 

Mr.  Wakefield,  in  "  Memoirs  of  his  own  Life,"  published  in 
1792,  has  informed  the  world  of  all  the  circumstances  attending 
his  education  and  passage  through  life  down  to  that  period,  with 
a  minuteness  and  frankness  which  render  his  work  a  very  cu- 
rious and  entertaining  piece  of  biography.  I  shall  not  make  any 
transcripts  from  it,  but  confining  myself  to  a  slight  sketch  of  the, 
leading  events,  shall  take  that  view  of  his  character  and  conduct 
which  suggests  itself  to  the  reflection  of  a  friendly  but  not  a 
prejudiced  by-stander. 

GILBERT  WAKEFIELD  was  born  on  February  22d,  1756,  at 
Nottingham,  of  which  town  his  father  was  one  of  the  parochial 
clergy.  An  uncommon  solidity  and  seriousness  of  disposition, 
marked  him  from  infancy,  together  with  a  power  of  application, 
and  thirst  after  knowledge,  which  accelerated  his  progress  in 
juvenile  studies.  In  his  grammatical  course  he  passed  under 
the  tuition  of  several  masters,  the  last  and  most  respectable  of 
whom  was  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wooddeson,  of  Kingston-upon-Thaaies, 
to  which  parish  his  father  had  then  moved.  He  was  used,  how 
3L 


450  APPENDIX. 

ever,  to  lament  that  he  had  not  possessed  the  advantages  of  an 
uniform  education  at  one  of  those  public  schools,  which  undoubt- 
edly, whatever  may  be  their  dangers  and  deficiencies,  effect  the 
point  at  which  they  exclusively  aim,  that  of  laying  a  solid  foun- 
dation for  classical  erudition  in  its  most  exact  form.  In  1772, 
he  was  entered  as  a  scholar  of  Jesus  College,  Cambridge  ;  and  it, 
was  ever  a  topic  of  thankfulness  to  him,  that  he  became  a  mem- 
ber of  that  university  in  which  the  love  of  truth  met  with  some- 
encouragement  from  a  spirit  of  liberal  inquiry,  rather  than  of 
that  which  was  devoted  either  to  supine  indolence,  or  to  the  pas- 
sive inculcation  of  opinions  sanctioned  by  authority.  During  the 
first  years,  his  attention  was  chiefly  fixed  upon  classical  studies, 
always  his  favourites  ;  and  he  was  excited  only  by  emulation  and 
academical  requisitions  to  aim  at  that  proficiency  in  mathema- 
tical knowledge  which  bears  so  high  a  value  at  Cambridge.  Yet 
while  he  confesses  himself  destitute  of  a  genuine  taste  for  spec- 
ulations of  this  kind,  he  scruples  not  to  declare  the  infinite  su- 
periority, in  point  of  grandeur  and  sublimity,  of  mathematical 
philosophy  to  classical  lucubrations.  In  1776,  he  took  his  degree 
of  B.  A.  on  which  occasion  he  was  nominated  to  the  second  place 
among  seventy-five  candidates ;  and  soon  after,  he  was  elected 
to  a  fellowship  of  his  college.  In  the  same  year  he  published  a 
small  collection  of  Latin  poems,  with  a  few  critical  notes  on 
Homer,  at  the  University  press.  If  not  highly  excellent,  they 
were  sufficient  to  establish  the  claim  of  a  young  man  to  more  than 
ordinary  acquaintance  with  the  elegancies  of  literature.  He  had 
already  obtained  a  knowledge  of  the  Hebrew  language,  as  pre- 
paratory to  those  theological  studies  which  now  became  his  most 
serious  occupation  ;  and  it  may  safely  be  affirmed  that  no  man 
ever  commenced  them  with  a  mind  more  determined  upon  the 
unbiassed  search  after  truth,  and  the  open  assertion  of  it  when 
discovered.  The  foundation  which  he  laid  for  his  inquiries  was 
an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  phraseology  of  the  Scriptures,  ac- 
quired by  means  of  attention  to  the  idiom  in  which  they  were 
written.  As  at  this  time  some  of  his  most  esteemed  academical 
friends  manifested  their  dissatisfaction  with  the  articles  of  the 
church  of  England  by  a  conscientious  refusal  of  subscription,  it 
cannot  be  doubted  that  scruples  on  this  point  had  already  taken 
possession  of  his  mind  ;  and  so  far  had  his  convictions  proceed- 
ed, thai  he  has  stigmatised  his  compliance  with  the  forms  requi- 
site for  obtaining  deacon's  orders,  which  he  received  in  1778,  as 


APPENDIX.  451 

"  the  most  disingenuous  action  of  his  whole  life."  If,  indeed,  he 
could  receive  consolation  from  the  practice  of  others,  there  were 
several  of  his  intimate  associates,  who,  by  a  superiority  to  such 
scruples,  have  since  risen  to  opulence  and  distinction  in  the 
church,  without  betraying  any  uneasiness  for  a  similar  acquies- 
cence. 

Mr.  Wakefield  left  college  after  ordination,  and  engaged  in  a 
curacy  at  Stockport,  in  Cheshire,  whence  he  afterwards  removed 
to  a  similar  situation  in  Liverpool.     He  performed  the  duties  of 
his  office  with  seriousness  and  punctuality;  but  his  dissatisfac- 
tion with  the  doctrine  and  worship  of  the  church  continuing  to 
increase,  he  probably  considered  his  connection  with  it  as  not 
likely  to  be  durable.     The  disgust  he  felt  at  what  he  saw  of  the 
practice  of  privateering,  and  the  slave-trade,  in  the  latter  place 
of  his  residence,  also  awakened  in  his  mind  that  humane  interest 
in  the  rights  and  happiness  of  his  fellow-creatures,  which  has 
made  so  conspicuous  a  part  of  his  character.     The  American 
war  did  not  tend  to  augment  his  attachment  to  the  political  ad- 
ministration of  his  country;  in  short,  he  became  altogether  unfit 
to  make  one  of  that  body,  the  principal  business  of  which,  in  the 
opinion  of  many,  seems  to  be,  acting  as  the  satellites  of  existing 
authority,  however  exerted.     His  marriage,  in  1779,  to  Miss 
Watson,  niece  of  the  rector  of  Stockport,  was  soon  followed  by 
an  invitation  to  undertake  the  post  of  classical  tutor  at  the  dis- 
senting academy  at  Warrington,  with  which  he  complied.  That 
he  was  regarded  as  a  very  valuable  acquisition  to  this  institu- 
tion,— that  he  was  exemplary  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty,  and 
equally  gained  the  attachment  of  his  pupils,  and  the  friendship 
and  esteem  of  his  colleagues, — the  writer  of  this  account  can 
from  his  own  knowledge  attest.     Being  now  freed  from  all  cle- 
rical shackles,  he  began  his  career  as  a  theological  controversial- 
ist, and,  it  must  be  confessed,  with  an  acrimony  of  style  which 
was  lamented  by  his  friends,  and  which  laid  him  open  to  the  re- 
proach of  his  enemies.     It  is  not  here  intended  to  vindicate  what 
the  writer  himself  cannot  but  disapprove  ;  but  the  real  and  sub- 
stantial kindness  of  Mr.  Wakefield's  temper,  and  the  benevo- 
lence of  his  heart,  were  such,  that  this  apparent  contradiction 
must  be  solved  by  his  warmth  of  zeal  in  what  he  thought  the 
cause  of  truth,  and  perhaps  by  a  familiarity  with  scholastic  de- 
bates, which  rendered  him  in  some  measure  callous  to  the  use, 
•r  rather  abuse,  of  vituperative  expressions  from  the  press.    In 


452  APPENDIX. 

disputations  by  word  of  mouth,  no  man  was  more  calm  and  gen- 
tle, more  patient  in  hearing,  or  more  placid  in  replying ;  and  if, 
in  his  writings,  he  has  without  hesitation  or  delicacy  bestowed 
his  censures,  he  has  been  equally  liberal  and  decided  in  his  praise. 
His  applauses  evidently  came  from  the  heart,  free  and  unstinted, 
for  envy  did  not  possess  a  single  particle  in  his  composition ;  nor 
has  he  withheld  them  when  he  thought  them  deserved  by  partic- 
ular laudable  qualities,  even  in  characters  which  he  could  not 
regard  with  general  approbation.  No  man,  perhaps,  ever  more 
fully  gave  way  to  the  openness  of  his  disposition  in  speaking  the 
whole  truth  concerning  men  and  things,  unmoved  by  common 
considerations ;  whence  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  he  fre- 
quently rendered  himself  more  obnoxious  to  antagonists  than  the 
case  essentially  required,  and  roused  prejudices  which  a  more 
guarded  conduct  would  have  left  dormant.  A  sentence  which, 
in  his  Memoirs,  he  has  quoted  from  Asgill,  expresses  (as  it  was 
probably  meant  to  do)  the  spirit  with  which  he  wrote.  "  A  blunt 
author  in  pursuit  of  truth,  knows  no  man  after  the  flesh,  till  his 
chase  is  over.  For  a  man  to  think  what  he  writes,  may  bespeak 
his  prudence:  but  to  write  what  he  thinks,  best  opens  his  prin- 
ciples." 

We  shall  not  in  this  sketch  attempt  to  give  an  account  of  all 
his  publications,  many  of  them  small  in  bulk  and  temporary  in 
their  application.  The  most  important  of  his  theological  labours 
will  be  allowed  to  be  those  in  which  he  employs  his  eminent  eru- 
dition in  the  explanation  of  Scripture.  Of  these,  the  first  was 
"  A  New  Translation  of  the  First  Epistle  of  Paul,  the  Apostle, 
to  the  Thessalonians,"  printed  in  1781.  It  was  followed  in  the 
next  year  by  "  A  New  Translation  of  St.  Matthew,  with  Notes, 
critical,  philological,  and  explanatory,"  4to  ;  a  work  which  ob- 
tained much  applause,  and  amply  displayed  the  extent  of  his 
reading,  and  the  facility  with  which  his  memory  called  up  its 
reposited  stores  for  the  purpose  of  illustration  or  parallelism.  At 
this  time  he  likewise  augmented  his  fund  for  Scripture  interpre- 
tation by  the  acquisition  of  various  Oriental  dialects.  After  quit- 
ting Warrington,  at  the  dissolution  of  the  academy,  he  took  up 
his  residence  successively  at  Bramcote  in  Nottinghamshire,  at 
Richmond,  and  at  Nottingham,  upon  the  plan  of  taking  a  few 
pupils,  and  pursuing  at  his  leisure  those  studies  to  which  he  be- 
came continually  more  attached.  While  in  the  first  of  these 
situations,  he  published  the  first  volume  of  An  Inquiry  into  the 


APPENDIX.  453 

Opinions  of  the  Christian  Writers  of  the  three  first  Centuries  con- 
cerning the  Person  of  Jesus  Christ,  a  learned  and  elaborate  per- 
formance, but  which  did  not  meet  with  encouragement  sufficient 
to  induce  him  to  proceed  in  the  design.  A  painful  disorder  in 
his  left  shoulder,  with  which  he  was  attacked  in  1786,  and  which 
harassed  him  for  two  years,  interrupted  the  course  of  his  employ- 
ments ;  and  he  could  do  no  more  for  letters  during  that  period, 
than  alleviate  his  sufferings  by  drawing  up  some  remarks  upon 
the  Georgics  of  Virgil  and  the  Poems  of  Gray,  which  he  publish- 
ed with  editions  of  those  delightful  compositions.  As  his  health 
returned,  his  theological  pursuits  were  resumed,  and  he  again 
engaged  in  the  field  of  controversy.  He  also,  in  1789,  made  a 
commencement  of  a  work,  which  promised  much,  as  well  for  his 
reputation,  as  for  the  advantage  of  sacred  literature.  It  was  Jin 
Union  of  Theological  and  Classical  Learning,  illustrating  the 
Scriptures  by  Light  borrowed  from  the  Philology  of  Greece  and 
Rome.  Under  the  title  of  Silva  Critica  three  parts  of  this  per- 
formance have  issued  from  the  University  press  of  Cambridge. 

The  formation  of  a  dissenting  college  at  Hackney,  which  it 
was  hoped,  by  the  powerful  aid  of  the  metropolis,  would  become 
both  more  considerable  and  more  permanent  than  former  insti- 
tutions of  a  like  kind,  produced  an  invitation  to  Mr.  Wakefield 
to  undertake  the  classical  professorship.  With  this  he  thought 
proper  to  comply  ;  and  accordingly,  in  1790,  he  quitted  his  abode 
at  Nottingham,  and  removed  to  Hackney,  upon  the  plan  of  join- 
ing with  public  tuition  the  instruction  of  private  pupils.  He  has 
himself  informed  the  public  that  "  both  of  these  anchors  failed 
him,  and  left  his  little  bark  again  afloat  on  the  ocean  of  life."  It 
is  neither  necessary  nor  desirable  to  revive  the  memory  of  dif- 
ferences between  persons  really  respectable  and  well-intention- 
ed, but  under  the  influence  of  different  habits  and  views  of  things. 
We  shall  confine  ourselves  to  a  remark  or  two. 

Mr-  Wakefield  was  a  person  who  derived  his  opinions  entirely 
from  the  source  of  his  own  reason  and  reflection,  anil  it  will  not 
be  easy  to  name  a  man  who  stood  more  single  and  insulated  in 
this  respect  throughout  life  than  he.  Although  his  principles  had 
induced  him  to  renounce  his  clerical  office  in  the  church  of  Eng- 
land, and  he  had  become  a  dissenter  from  her  doctrine  and  wor- 
ship, yet  he  was  far  from  uniting  with  any  particular  class  of  those 
who  are  u&^ally  denominated  dissenters.  He  had  an  insuperable 
repugnance  to  their  mode  of  performing  divine  service ;  and  he 


454  APPENDIX. 

held  in  no  high  estimation  the  theological  and  philosophical 
knowledge  which  it  has  been  the  principal  object  of  their  semi 
naries  of  education  to  communicate.  It  has  already  been  ob- 
served, that  the  basis  of  his  own  divinity  was  philology.  Clas- 
sical literature,  therefore,  as  containing  the  true  rudiments  of 
all  other  science,  was  that  on  which  he  thought  the  greatest 
stress  should  be  laid,  in  a  system  of  liberal  education.  This 
point  he  inculcated  with  an  earnestness  which  probably  appear- 
ed somewhat  dictatorial  to  the  conductors  of  the  institution. 

Further,  in  the  progress  of  his  speculations,  he  had  been  led 
to  form  notions  concerning  the  expediency  and  propriety  of  pub- 
lic worship,  extremely  different  from  those  of  every  body  of 
Christians,  whether  in  sects  or  establishments  ;  and  as  he  was 
•  incapable  of  thinking  one  thing  and  practising  another,  he  had 
sufficiently  nlade  known  his  sentiments  on  this  subject,  as  well 
in  conversation,  as  by  abstaining  from  attendance  upon  every 
place  of  religious  assembly.  They  who  were  well  acquainted 
with  him,  knew  that  in  his  own  breast  piety  was  one  of  the  most 
predominant  affections ;  but  the  assembling  for  social  worship 
had  for  so  many  ages  been  regarded  as  the  most  powerful  in- 
strument for  the  support  of  general  religion,  that  to  discourage 
it  was  considered  as  of  dangerous  example,  especially  in  a  per- 
son engaged  in  the  education  of  youth.  Notwithstanding, 
therefore,  his  classical  instructions  in  the  college  were  received 
by  the  students  almost  with  enthusiastical  admiration,  and  con- 
ferred high  credit  on  the  institution,  a  dissolution  of  his  connec- 
tion with  it  took  place  in  the  summer  of  1791. 

The  subsequent  publication  of  his  pamphlet  on  Public  Wor- 
ship deprived  him  (as  he  says)  of  the  only  two  private  pupils  he 
expected.  From  that  period  he  continued  to  reside  at  Hackney, 
in  the  capacity  of  a  retired  man  of  letters,  employing  his  time 
partly  in  the  education  of  his  own  children,  partly  in  the  com- 
position of  works  which  will  perpetuate  his  name  among  those 
who  have  cultivated  literature  with  most  ardour  and  success. 
His  Translation  of  the  New  Testament,  ivith  Notes,  3  vols.  8vo. 
appeared  towards  the  close  of  1791,  and  was  very  respectably 
patronised.  In  language  it  preserves  as  much  as  possible  of 
the  old  version.  Its  numerous  deviations  from  that  in  sense, 
will  be  regarded  as  happy  alterations  or  bold  innovations,  ac- 
cording to  the  prepossessions  of  the  reader.  A  long  list  might 
be  given  of  his  succeeding  labours,  but  we  shall  only  particular- 


APPENDIX.  455 

*se  some  of  the  most  considerable.  He  printed  (no  longer  at 
the  Cambridge  press)  two  more  parts  of  his  Silva  Critica.  He 
gave  a  new  edition,  much  corrected,  of  his  Translation  of  the 
New  Testament ;  and  besides,  proved  his  zeal  for  Christianity, 
by  enlarging  a  former  work  On  the  Evidences  of  the  Christian 
Religion,  and  by  replying  to  Thomas  Paine's  attack  upon  it  in 
his  Age  of  Reason. 

To  the  works  of  Pope,  as  our  most  cultivated  English  poet, 
and  the  most  perfect  example  of  that  splendour  and  felicity  of 
diction  which  is  not  attained  without  much  study  of  the  poetic 
art,  Mr.  Wakefield  paid  particular  attention.  It  was  his  design 
to  have  published  a  complete  edition  of  his  works ;  but  after  he 
had  printed  the  first  volume,  the  scheme  was  rendered  abortive 
by  Dr.  Warton's  edition.  He,  however,  printed  a  second  vo- 
lume, entitled  Notes  on  Pope,  and  also  gave  a  new  edition  of 
Pope's  Iliad  and  Odyssey.  In  these  publications  he  displayed 
all  that  variety  of  comparison  and  illustration,  that  power  of 
tracing  a  poetical  thought  through  different  authors,  with  its 
successive  shades  and  heightenings,  and  that  exquisite  feeling 
of  particular  beauties,  which  distinguish  him  as  an  annotator  of 
the  writers  of  Greece  and  Rome. 

As  a  classical  editor  he  appeared  in  a  selection  from  the 
Greek  tragedians,  in  editions  of  Horace,  Virgil,  Bion  and  Mos- 
chus,  and  finally,  in  his  Lucretius  ;  a  vast  performance,  which 
alone  might  seem  the  labour  of  many  industrious  years.  Of  his 
character  as  a  man  of  letters,  I  have  been  favoured  with  the  fol- 
lowing estimate  by  an  able  judge,  the  Rev.  E.  Cogan  of  Ches- 
hunt: 

"  In  extent  of  erudition,  particularly  if  an  acquaintance  with 
the  oriental  languages  be  taken  into  the  account,  he  was  per- 
haps inferior  to  no  man  of  the  present  age ;  and  they  who  have 
been  considered  as  having  had  the  advantage  over  him  in  some 
of  the  less  important  minutiss  of  Greek  literature,  have  probably 
limited  their  attention  to  fewer  objects,  and  certainly  commen- 
ced their  literary  course  with  a  more  advantageous  preparation. 
In  conjectural  criticism  he  exhibits  much  of  the  character  of 
Bentley  and  Markland :  men  whom  he  esteemed  according  to 
their  high  deserts  in  that  species  of  learning  to  which  his  own 
mind  was  peculiarly  directed.  Like  these  illustrious  scholars, 
he  is  always  learned,  sometimes  bold,  and  frequently  happy 
Like  them,  he  had  a  mind  which  disdained  to  be  held  in  a  ser- 


456  APPENDIX. 

vile  subjection  to  authority  ;  and  in  defiance  of  established  read- 
ings, which  too  often  substitute  the  dreams  of  transcribers  for 
the  gems  of  antiquity,  he  followed,  without  fear,  wherever  reason 
and  probability  seemed  to  lead  the  way.  In  his  earlier  critical 
works,  he  exhibited,  amidst  some  errors  which  his  riper  judg- 
ment discarded,  the  promise  of  his  future  greatness:  and  even 
his  faults  were  the  infirmities  of  genius  ;  they  flowed  from  that 
ardour  and  enthusiasm  which  cannot  always  wait  for  the  slow 
decisions  of  cool  inquiry.  They  were  faults  which,  though  they 
afforded  a  small  consolation  to  dull  malignity,  did  not  diminish 
his  praise  in  the  estimation  of  one  solid  and  impartial  judge. 
His  favourite  study  was  poetry,  and  in  an  extensive  acquain- 
tance with  the  ancient  poets,  both  Greek  and  Roman,  few  men 
since  the  revival  of  letters  have  equalled  him,  and  no  one  ever 
surpassed  him  in  the  perception  of  their  beauties.  When  he 
applies  to  them  the  hand  of  conjecture,  he  rarely  fails  to  give 
new  spirit  and  animation  by  his  touch  ;  and  where  we  are  oblig- 
ed to  dissent  from  his  corrections,  we  are  sometimes  sorry  for 
the  credit  of  the  poet  that  he  does  not  appear  to  have  v/ritten 
what  the  critic  has  suggested.  He  was  peculiarly  fond  of  trac- 
ing an  elegance  of  poetical  expression  through  the  various  mo- 
difications which  it  assumed  in  the  hands  of  different  writers, 
and  in  the  illustration  of  ancient  phraseology  he  did  not  over- 
look the  poets  of  his  own  country,  with  many  of  which  he  was 
very  familiar.  His  great  work  is  undoubtedly  his  edition  of 
Lucretius,  a  work  which  ignorance  may  despise,  at  which  malice 
may  carp,  and  hireling  scriblers  may  rail,  but  which  will  rank 
with  the  labours  of  Heinsius,  Gronovius,  Burman,  and  Heyne, 
as  long  as  literature  itself  shall  live.  It  will  share  the  predic- 
tion with  which  Ovid  has  graced  the  memory  of  the  great  poet 
himself: 

Carmina  sublimis  tune  snnt  peritura  LucretJ, 
Exitio  terras  cum  dabit  Una  dies. 

"Besides  its  critical  merit,  it  exhibits  the  richest  display  of 
the  flowers  of  poetry  that  ever  was  presented  to  the  world,  and 
will  amply  reward  the  perusal  of  every  man  who  has  sensibilitj 
to  relish  the  finest  touches  of  human  genius. 

"Mr.  Wakefield,  even  before  this  immortal  specimen  of  his 
talents,  was  deservedly  held  in  the  highest  estimation  by  the  li- 
terati of  Germany  ;  and  if  his  honours  at  home  have  not  equalled 


APPENDIX.  457 

his  reputation  abroad,  the  candid  mind  will  easily  find  the  ex- 
planation of  this  phenomenon  in  the  violence  of  political  party, 
and  the  mean  jealousy  which  has  too  often  disgraced  the  scho- 
lars of  Great  Britain.  The  name  of  Bentley  is  connected  with 
proof  enough  of  the  justice  of  this  insinuation." 

I  shall  now  proceed  to  an  incident  of  his  life  which  will  be 
viewed  with  regret  by  the  ingenuous  of  all  parties:  the  additional 
sensations  it  inspires  will,  of  course,  be  different  according  to 
the  particular  sentiments  of  individuals.  It  has  already  been 
hinted  that  Mr.  Wakefield,  from  the  time  of  his  residence  at 
Liverpool,  had  begun  to  imbibe  a  detestation  of  that  policy  which 
trampled  upon  the  rights  of  mankind,  and  was  founded  upon 
unfeeling  avarice  and  unprincipled  ambition.  His  study  of 
Christianity  more  and  more  convinced  him  that  the  maxims  of 
the  world  and  those  of  religion  were  in  direct  opposition  ;  and, 
in  common  with  many  other  excellent  and  learned  men,  he  be- 
came persuaded  of  the  absolute  incompatibility  of  war  with  the 
Christian  character.  He  had  moreover  received  those  principles 
of  the  origin  and  end  of  government,  which,  however  they  may 
now  be  regarded,  were  once  thought  fundamental  to  the  British 
constitution,  and  the  basis  of  all  civil  liberty.  He  had  occasion- 
ally, in  the  political  contests  of  his  country,  publicly  expressed 
his  opinions  upon  these  subjects  ;  but  the  French  revolution  was 
an  event  calculated  to  call  forth  all  his  ardour  in  the  cause.  His 
sanguine  temper  led  him  to  consider  it  as  the  undoubted  com- 
mencement of  a  better  order  of  things,  in  which  rational  liberty, 
equitable  policy,  and  pure  religion  would  finally  become  trium- 
phant. He  watched  its  progress  with  incredible  interest,  ex- 
cused its  unhappy  deviations,  and  abhorred  the  combination  of 
arbitrary  power  which  threatened  its  destruction.  It  was  im- 
possible that  he  should  refrain  from  employing  his  pen  on  the 
occasion,  or  that  he  should  do  it  with  a  "  cold  and  unperforming 
hand."  In  his  Remarks  on  the  General  Orders  of  the  Duke  of 
York,  he  had  arraigned  the  justice  of  the  war  with  France  in 
terms  which  are  supposed  to  have  exercised  the  utmost  forbear- 
ance of  the  Ministry.  But  in  his  "  Reply  to  some  Parts  of  the 
Bishop  of  Landaff's  Address,"  he  passed  those  limits.  From 
that  systematic  progress  in  restraining  the  free  communication 
of  political  opinions  which  may  be  traced  in  the  acts  of  the  late 
Ministry,  it  is  not  unreasonable  to  conclude,  that  a  victim  to  the 
liberty  of  the  press,  of  name  and  character  sufficient  to  inspire  a 
3M 


458  APPENDIX. 

wide  alarm,  was  really  desired.  Yet,  as  the  attorney  general 
solemnly  protested  that  his  prosecution  of  this  pamphlet  was 
spontaneous,  and  solely  dictated  to  him  by  the  heinous  and  dan- 
gerous nature  of  its  contents,  it  wouM  be  uncandid  to  call  his 
assertion  in  question.  A  man  of  sense,  however,  maybe  allow- 
ed to  smile  at  the  notion  of  real  danger  to  supreme  power,  sup- 
ported as  well  by  public  opinion,  as  by  every  active  energy  of 
the  state,  from  a  private  writer,  arguing  upon  principles  so  little 
applicable  to  the  practice  of  the  world,  as  those  of  the  Gospel. 
Further,  a  man  of  a  truly  liberal  and  generous  mind  will  per- 
haps view,  not  without  indignation,  the  thunders  of  the  law  hurl- 
ed upon  a  head  distinguished  for  virtue  and  learning,  without 
any  humane  allowance  for  well  intentioned,  if  misguided,  zeal. 
The  attack  commenced,  not  against  the  principal,  who  bold- 
ly and  honestly  came  forward  to  avow  himself,  but  against 
the  agents  ;  and  the  grand  purport  of  it  was  sufficiently  de- 
clared by  the  superior  severity  with  which  a  bookseller  was 
treated,  who  was  not  the  editor,  but  only  a  casual  vender 
of  the  work ;  but  who  had  long  been  obnoxious  as  a  distin- 
guished publisher  of  books  of  free  inquiry.  Mr.  Wakefield 
himself  next  underwent  prosecution;  and  his  sentence,  upon 
conviction,  was  a  two  years'  imprisonment  in  Dorchester  gaol. 
There  exists  no  other  measure  of  punishment  in  such  a  case  than 
comparison,  and  perhaps,  upon  the  application  of  this  rule,  it 
will  not  be  found  inordinately  severe.  Two  years'  abode  in  a 
prison  is,  however,  a  most  serious  infliction !  it  is  cutting  off  so 
much  from  desirable  existence.  Mr.  Wakefield,  notwithstand- 
ing his  natural  fortitude,  felt  it  as  such.  Though,  from  his  ha- 
bits of  sobriety  and  seclusion,  he  had  little  to  resign  in  respect 
of  the  ordinary  pleasures  of  the  world  ;  his  habits  of  pedestrian 
exercise,  and  his  enjoyment  of  family  comfort,  were  essentially 
infringed  by  confinement.  He  likewise  found  all  his  plans  of 
study  so  deranged,  by  the  want  of  his  library,  and  the  many  in- 
commodities  of  his  situation,  that  he  was  less  able  to  employ 
that  resource  against  tedium  and  melancholy  than  might  have 
been  expected.  One  powerful  consolation,  however,  in  addition 
to  that  of  a  good  conscience,  attended  him.  A  set  of  warm  and 
generous  friends  employed  themselves  in  raising  a  contribution 
which  should  not  only  indemnify  him  from  any  pecuniary  loss 
consequent  upon  his  prosecution,  but  should  alleviate  his  cares 
for  the  future  support  of  his  family.  The  purpose  was  effected; 


APPENDIX.  459 

and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  Englishmen  will  ever  retain  spirit 
enough  to  take  under  their  protection  men  who  have  faithfully, 
though  perhaps  not  with  due  prudence  and  consideration,  main- 
tained the  noble  cause  of  mankind  against  the  frowns  of  authority. 

At  length  the  tedious  period  elapsed,  and  the  last  day  of  May, 
1801,  restored  him  to  liberty.  He  was  received  by  his  friends, 
many  of  whom  had  visited  him  in  prison,  with  the  most  cordial 
welcome.  He  was  endeared  to  them  by  his  sufferings,  and  his 
character  was  generally  thought  to  have  received  a  meliorating 
tinge  of  mildness  and  moderation  from  the  reflection  which  had 
passed  through  his  mind.  He  formed  extensive  plans  for  future 
literary  labours,  and  he  seemed  fully  capable  of  enjoying  and 
benefiting  that  world  to  which  he  was  returned.  When — Oh, 
what  is  man  ! — a  fever,  probably  occasioned  by  his  anxious  exer- 
tions to  fix  himself  in  a  new  habitation,  cut  short  all  his  pros- 
pects. From  the  first  attack  he  persuaded  himself  that  the  ter- 
mination would  be  fatal,  and  this  conviction  materially  opposed 
every  attempt  of  medicine  in  his  favour.  He  surveyed  death 
without  terror,  and  prepared  for  it  by  tender  offices  to  the  sur- 
vivors. The  event  took  place  on  September  the  9th. 

It  is  presumed  that  the  character  of  Mr.  Wakefield  is  sufficlr 
ently  developed  in  the  preceding  sketch  of  his  life.  It  may,  how- 
ever, be  added,  that  there  was  in  him  an  openness,  a  simplicity, 
a  good  faith,  an  affectionate  ardour,  a  noble  elevation  of  soul, 
which  irresistibly  made  way  to  the  hearts  of  all  who  nearly  ap- 
proached him,  and  rendered  him  the  object  of  friendly  attach- 
ment, to  a  degree  almost  unexampled.  Let  this  be  placed  in 
balance  against  all  that  might  appear  arrogant  or  self-sufficient, 
harsh,  or  irritable,  in  his  literary  conduct !  His  talents  were 
rare — his  morals  pure — his  views  exalted — his  courage  invinci- 
ble— his  integrity  without  a  spot.  When  will  the  place  of  such 
a  man  be  supplied  ! 


460  APPENDIX. 


(F.  p.  142.) 
MEMOIR 


OF 


JOSEPH  PRIESTLEY,  L.L.D.  F.H.S, 


JOSEPH  PRIESTLEY,  L.L.D.  F.R.S.  and  member  of  many 
foreign  literary  societies,  was  born  on  March  iSth,  old  style, 
1733,  at  Field-head,  in  the  parish  of  Birstall,  in  the  West-riding 
of  Yorkshire.  His  father  was  engaged  in  the  clothing  manufac- 
ture, and  both  parents  were  persons  of  respectability  among  the 
Calvinistic  Dissenters.  Joseph  was  from  an  early  period  brought 
up  in  the  house  of  Mr.  Joseph  Keighley,  who  had  married  his 
aunt<  A  fondness  for  reading  was  one  of  the  first  passions  he 
displayed ;  and  it  probably  induced  his  friends  to  change  their 
intentions  of  educating  him  for  trade,  and  destine  him  for  a  learn- 
ed profession.  He  was  sent  to  a  school  at  Batley,  the  master  of 
which  possessed  no  common  share  of  erudition.  Besides  the 
Latin  and  Greek  languages,  he  was  capable  of  giving  instruc- 
tions in  the  Hebrew;  and  his  pupil  carried  with  him  the  know- 
ledge of  all  the  three  to  the  academy  of  Daventry ;  at  which  he 
was  entered,  in  his  19th  year,  as  a  student  of  divinity.  This 
academy  was  the  successor  of  that  kept  by  Dr.  Dod ridge  at 
Northampton,  and  was  conducted  by  Dr.  Ashworth,  whose  first 
pupil  Mr.  Priestley  is  said  to  have  been.  When  about  the  age  ot 
twenty-two,  he  was  chosen  as  an  assistant  minister  to  the  Inde 
pendent  congregation  of  Needham-market  in  Suffolk.  He  had  at 
this  time  begun  to  imbibe  theological  opinions  different  from 
those  of  the  school  in  which  he  had  been  educated.  He  had  like- 
wise become  a  student  and  admirer  of  the  metaphysical  philoso- 
phy of  Hartley,  of  which,  during  life,  he  was  the  zealous  advo- 
cate and  the  acute  elucidator. 


APPENDIX.  461 

After  an  abode  of  three  years  at  Needham,  he  accepted  an  in- 
vitation to  be  pastor  of  a  small  flock  at  Namptwich  in  Cheshire. 
There  he  opened  a  day-school,  in  the  conduct  of  which  he  exhi- 
bited that  turn  for  ingenious  research,  and  that  spirit  of  improve- 
ment, which  were  to  be  his  distinguishing  characteristics.  He 
enlarged  the  minds  of  his  pupils  by  philosophical  experiments, 
and  he  drew  up  an  English  Grammar  upon  an  improved  plan, 
which  was  his  earliest  publication.  His  reputation  as  a  man  of 
uncommon  talents  and  active  inquiry  soon  extended  itself  among 
his  professional  brethren  ;  and  when,  upon  the  death  of  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Taylor,  the  tutor  in  divinity  at  Warrington  academy,  Dr. 
Aikin  was  chosen  to  supply  his  place,  Mr.  Priestley  was  invited 
to  undertake  the  vacant  department  of  belles-lettres.  It  was  in 
1761  that  he  removed  to  a  situation  happily  accommodated  to 
his  personal  improvement,  by  the  free  society  of  men  of  large  in- 
tellectual attainments,  and  to  the  display  of  his  own  various  pow- 
ers of  mind.  He  soon  after  made  a  matrimonial  connection  with 
Mary,  daughter  to  Mr.  Wilkinson  of  Bersham  Foundry,  near 
Wrexham  ;  a  lady  of  an  excellent  heart,  and  a  strong  under- 
standing, and  his  faithful  partner  in  all  the  vicissitudes  of  his 
life. 

At  Warrington  properly  commenced  the  literary  career  of 
this  eminent  person,  and  a  variety  of  publications  soon  announ- 
ced to  the  world  the  extent  and  originality  of  his  pursuits.  One 
of  the  first  was  a  Chart  of  Biography,  in  which  he  ingeniously 
contrived  to  present  an  ocular  image  both  of  the  proportional 
duration  of  existence,  and  of  the  chronological  period  and  syn- 
chronism of  all  the  most  eminent  persons  of  all  ages  and  coun- 
tries, in  the  great  departments  of  science,  art,  and  public  life. 
This  was  very  favourably  received,  and  suggested  a  second  chart, 
of  History,  in  like  manner  offering  to  the  view  the  extent,  time, 
and  duration  of  states  and  empires.  Subjects  of  history  and  gene- 
ral politics  at  this  time  engaged  much  of  his  attention.  He  de- 
livered lectures  upon  them,  of  which  the  substance  was  given  to 
the  world  in  various  useful  publications.  His  notions  of  govern- 
ment were  founded  on  those  principles  of  the  original  and  inde- 
feasible rights  of  man,  which  are  the  sole  basis  of  all  political 
freedom.  He  was  an  ardent  admirer  of  the  British  Constitution, 
according  to  his  conceptions  of  it,  and  ably  illustrated  it  in  his 
lectures. 

With  respect  to  his  proper  academical  department  of  the  belles  - 


462  APPENDIX. 

lettres,  he  displayed  the  enlargement  of  his  views  in  a  set  of 
Lectures  on  the  Theory  and  History  of  Language,  and  on  the 
Principles  of  Oratory  and  Criticism  ;  in  the  latter  of  which,  he 
successfully  applied  the  Hartleian  theory  of  association,  to  ob- 
jects of  taste.  Although  his  graver  pursuits  did  not  allow  him 
to  cultivate  the  agreeable  parts  of  literature  as  a  practitioner,  he 
sufficiently  showed,  by  some  light  and  playful  efforts,  that  he 
would  have  been  capable  of  excelling  in  this  walk,  had  he  given 
his  attention  to  it.  But  he  was  too  intent  upon  things  to  expend 
his  regards  upon  words,  and  he  remained  contented  with  a  style 
of  writing  accommodated  to  the  great  business  of  instruction,  of 
which  the  characteristics  were  accuracy  and  perspicuity. 

Fully  as  his  time  might  seem  occupied  by  the  academical  and 
literary  employments  above  enumerated,  he  found  means,  by  per- 
petual activity  and  indefatigable  industry,  to  accomplish  the  first 
great  work  in  natural  philosophy,  which  laid  a  solid  foundation 
for  his  fame  in  that  department  of  human  knowledge.  Having 
long  amused  himself  with  an  electrical  machine,  and  taken  an 
interest  in  the  progress  of  discovery  in  that  branch  of  physics,  he 
was  induced  to  undertake  a  History  of  Electricity,  with  an  ac- 
count of  its  present  state.  As  the  science  was  of  late  date,  and 
all  its  facts  and  theories  lay  within  a  moderate  compass  of  read- 
ing, he  thought  it  a  task  not  beyond  his  powers  to  effect  com- 
pletely what  he  proposed;  although  his  plan  included  an  exten- 
sive course  of  experiment  of  his  own,  to  verify  what  had  been 
done  by  others,  and  to  clear  up  remaining  doubts  and  obscuri- 
ti^s.  It  appears  from  his  preface,  that,  while  engaged  in  this 
design,  he  had  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  personal  intercourse 
with  some  eminent  philosophers,  among  whom  he  acknowledges 
as  coadjutors,  Drs.  Watson  and  Franklin,  and  Mr.  Canton.  The 
work  first  appeared  at  Warrington,  in  1767,  4to;  and  so  well 
was  it  received,  that  it  passed  into  a  fifth  edition,  in  4to.  in  1794. 
It  is  indeed  an  admirable  model  of  scientific  history :  full  with- 
out superfluity;  clear,  methodical,  candid,  and  unaffected.  Its 
original  experiments  are  highly  ingenious,  and  gave  a  foretaste 
of  that  fertility  of  contrivance  and  sagacity  of  observation  which 
afterwards  so  much  distinguished  the  author. 

It  may  be  proper  in  this  place  to  speak  of  Dr.  Priestley's  ge- 
neral character  as  an  experimental  philosopher.  No  person  in 
this  class  can  be  met  with  who  engaged  in  his  inquiries  with  a 
more  pure  and  simple  love  of  truth,  detached  from  all  private 


APPENDIX.  463 

and  selfish  considerations  of  fame  or  advantage.  Hence  he  was 
solicitous  only  that  discoveries  should  be  made,  regardless  by 
whom  they  were  made:  and  he  was  placed  far  beyond  all  that 
petty  jealousy  and  rivalry  which  has  so  often  led  to  the  sup- 
pression of  hints  from  casual  observations,  till  the  proprietor 
should  have  made  the  most  of  them  for  himself.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  was  impatient  till  all  engaged  in  similar  pursuits 
should  be  put  upon  the  track  which  appeared  to  him  most 
likely  to  lead  to  successful  investigation.  Having  no  favourite 
theories  to  support,  he  admitted  indifferently  facts  of  all  appa- 
rent tendencies ;  and  felt  not  the  least  hesitation  in  renouncing 
an  opinion  hastily  formed,  for  another,  the  result  of  maturer  ex- 
amination. He  regarded  the  whole  field  of  knowledge  as  com- 
mon ground,  to  be  cultivated  by  the  united  labour  of  individuals 
for  the  general  benefit.  In  these  respects  he  seems  most  to 
have  resembled  the  excellent  Stephen  Hales,  whom  Haller  just- 
ly entitles  "  vir  indefessus,  ad  inveniendum  verum  natus." 

His  connection  with  the  Warrington  academy  ceased  in  1768, 
when  he  accepted  an  invitation  to  officiate  as  pastor  to  a  large 
and  respectable  congregation  of  protestant  dissenters  at  Leeds. 
Considering  himself  now  as  more  especially  devoted  to  theology, 
he  suffered  that,  which  had  always  been  his  favourite  object,  to 
take  the  lead  amidst  his  intellectual  pursuits,  though  not  to  the 
exclusion  of  others. 

From  infancy  his  mind  had  been  strongly  impressed  with  de- 
votional sentiments  ;  and  although  he  had  widely  deviated  from 
the  doctrinal  opinions  which  he  had  first  imbibed,  yet  all  the 
pious  ardour  and  religious  zeal  of  the  sect  among  whom  he  was 
educated  remained  undiminished.  He.  likewise  retained  in  full 
force  the  principles  of  a  dissenter  from  the  Establishment,  and 
those  ideas  of  congregational  discipline  which  had  become  obso- 
lete among  many  of  the,  richer  and  more  relaxed  of  the  separa- 
tists. Numerous  publications  relative  to  these  points  soon 
marked  his  new  residence.  His  "  Institutes  of  Natural  and  Re- 
vealed Religion"  gave,  in  a  popular  and  concise  form,  his  sys- 
tem of  divinity  with  its  evidences.  His  "  View  of  the  Princi- 
ples and  Conduct  of  the  Protestant  Dissenters"  exhibited  his 
notions  of  the  grounds  of  dissent  and  the  proper  character  and 
policy  of  a  religious  sect ;  and  a  variety  of  controversial  and  po- 
lemic writings  presented  to  the  world  his  views  of  the  Christian 
dispensation. 


464  APPENDIX. 

As  a  divine,  if  possible,  still  more  than  as  a  philosopher,  truth 
was  his  sole  aim,  which  he  pursued  with  a  more  exalted  ardour, 
in  proportion  1o  the  greater  importance  of  the  subject.  Natu- 
rally sanguine,  and  embracing  the  conclusions  of  his  reason  with 
a  plenitude  of  conviction  that  excluded  every  particle  of  doubt, 
he  inculcated  his  tenets  with  an  earnestness  limited  by  nothing 
but  a  sacred  regard  to  the  rights  of  private  judgment  in  others  as 
well  as  himself.  The  considerations  of  human  prudence  were  no- 
thing in  his  eye,  nor  did  he  admit  the  policy  of  introducing  no 
velties  of  opinion  by  slow  degrees,  and  endeavouring  to  concili- 
ate a  favourable  hearing,  by  softening  or  suppressing-  what  was 
most  likely  to  shock  prejudiced  minds.  He  boldly  and  plainly 
uttered  what  he  conceived  to  be  the  truth  and  the  whole  truth, 
secure,  that  by  its  own  native  strength  it  would  in  fine  prevail, 
and  thinking  himself  little  responsible  for  any  temporary  evils 
that  might  be  incurred  during  the  interval.  To  adopt  the  beau- 
tiful and  happy  simile  of  one  of  his  late  vindicators,  "  he  followed 
truth  as  a  man  who  hawks,  follows  his  sport;  at  full  speed, 
straight  forward,  looking  only  upward,  and  regardless  into  what 
difficulties  the  chase  may  lead  him.'* 

As  pure  religion  was  the  great  end  of  Dr.  Priestley's  labours, 
so  perfect  freedom  of  discussion  was  the  means;  and  since  he 
was  convinced  that  this  could  not  be  attained  under  the  do- 
mination of  powerful  and  jealous  establishments,  interested  in 
maintaining  the  particular  system  on  which  they  were  founded, 
lie  was  a  warm  and  open  enemy  to  all  unions  of  ecclesiastical 
with  political  systems,  however  modified  and  limited.  In  this 
respect,  as  in  various  others,  he  differed  from  many  of  his  dissent- 
ing brethren  ;  and,  while  he  was  engaged  in  controversy  with  the 
Church,  he  bad  to  sustain  attacks  from  the  opposite  quarter. 
But  warfare  of  this  kind  he  never  feared  or  avoided  :  it  cost  him 
little  expense  of  time,  and  none  of  spirits  ;  it  even  seemed  as  if 
such  an  exercise  was  salutary  to  his  mental  constitution. 

Few  readers  of  this  sketch  need  be  told  that  Dr.  Priestley  was 
at  the  head  of  the  modern  Unitarians;  a  sect,  of  which  the  lead- 
ing tenet  is  the  proper  humanity  of  Christ,  and  which  confines 
every  species  of  religious  worship  and  adoration  to  the  One  Su- 
preme. If  those  who  have  charged  him  with  infidelity  meant  any 
thing  more  than  an  inference  from  his  avowed  opinions  on  this 
head,  and  imagined  that  he  intended  more  than  he  declared,  and 
entertained  a  secret  purpose  of  undermining  the  Christian  Re- 


APPENDIX.  465 

velation,  they  have  been  guilty  of  a  calumny  from  which  the  least 
exertion  of  candour  and  penetration  would  have  preserved  them. 
They  might  have  perceived  that  he  was  one  who  laid  open  his 
whole  soul  on  every  subject  in  which  he  was  engaged  ;  and  that 
zeal  for  Christianity,  as  a  divine  dispensation  and  the  most  val- 
uable of  all  gifts  bestowed  upon  the  human  kind,  was  his  ruling 
passion. 

The  favourable  reception  of  the  History  of  Electricity  had  in- 
duced Dr.  Priestley  to  adopt  the  grand  design  of  pursuing  the 
rise  and  progress  of  the  other  sciences,  in  a  historical  form  ;  and 
much  of  his  time  at  Leeds  was  occupied  in  his  second  work  upon 
this  plan,  entitled  The  History  and  present  State  of  Discoveries 
relating  to  Vision,  Light,  and  Colours,  which  appeared  in  2  vols. 
4to.  1772.  This  is  allowed  to  be  a  performance  of  great  merit; 
possessing  a  lucid  arrangement,  and  that  clear,  perspicuous  view 
of  his  subject  which  it  was  the  author's  peculiar  talent  to  afford. 
It  failed,  however,  of  attaining  the  popularity  of  his  History  of 
Electricity,  chiefly  because  it  was  impossible  to  give  adequate 
notions  of  many  parts  of  the  theory  of  optics  without  a  more  ac- 
curate acquaintance  with  mathematics  than  common  readers  can 
be  supposed  to  possess.  Perhaps,  too,  the  writer  himself  was 
scarcely  competent  to  explain  the  abstruser  parts  of  this  science. 
It  proved  to  be  the  termination  of  his  plan  :  but  science  was  no 
loser  by  the  circumstance  ;  for  the  activity  of  his  mind  was  turn- 
ed from  the  consideration  of  the  discoveries  of  others,  to  the  at- 
tempt of  making  discoveries  of  his  own,  and  nothing  could  be 
more  brilliant  than  his  success.  We  find  that  at  this  period  he 
had  begun  those  experiments  upon  air,  which  have  given  the 
greatest  celebrity  to  his  name  as  a  natural  philosopher. 

In  1770,  Dr.  Priestley  quitted  Leeds  for  a  situation  as  differ- 
ent as  could  well  be  imagined.  His  philosophical  writings,  and 
the  recommendation  of  his  friend  Dr.  Price,  had  made  him  so  fa- 
vourably known  to  the  Earl  of  Shelburne  (afterwards  Marquis  of 
Lansdovvn)  that  this  nobleman,  one  ot  the  very  few  in  this  coun- 
try who  have  assumed  the  patronage  of  literature  and  science, 
made  him  such  advantageous  proposals  for  residence  with  him, 
that  regard  to  his  family  would  not  permit  them  to  be  rejected. 
It  was  merely  in  the  capacity  of  his  Lordship's  librarian,  or  ra- 
ther, his  literary  and  philosophical  companion,  in  the  hours  that 
could  be  devoted  to  such  pursuits,  that  Dr.  Priestley  became  an 
inmate  with  him.  The  domestic  tuition  of  Lord  Shelburne's  sons 
3N 


466  APPENDIX, 

was  already  committed  to  a  man  of  merit,  and  they  received 
from  Dr.  Priestley  no  other  instruction  than  that  of  some  courses 
of  experimental  philosophy.  During  this  period,  his  family  re 
sided  at  Calne,  in  Wiltshire,  adjacent  to  Bovy-wood,  the  country 
seat  of  Lord  Shelburne.  Dr,  Priestley  frequently  accompanied 
his  noble  patron  to  London,  and  mixed  at  his  house  with  several 
of  the  eminent  characters  of  the  time,  by  whom  he  was  treated 
with  the  respect  due  to  his  talents  and  virtues.  He  also  attended 
his  Lordship  in  a  visit  to  Paris,  where  he  saw  many  of  the  most 
celebrated  men  of  science  and  letters  in  that  country  ;  and  he  as- 
tonished them  by  his  assertion  of  a  firm  belief  in  revealed  reli- 
gion, which  had  been  presented  to  their  minds  in  such  colours, 
that  they  thought  no  man  of  sense  could  hesitate  in  rejecting  it 
as  an  idle  fable. 

Whilst  he  was  enjoying  the  advantages  of  this  situation,  in 
every  assistance  from  books  and  a  noble  apparatus  for  the  pur- 
suit of  experimental  inquiry,  he  also  appeared  in  the  height  of 
his  fame  as  an  acute  metaphysician.  In  1775,  he  published  his 
Examination  of  Dr.  Reid  on  the  Human  Mind  ;  Dr.  Beattie  on 
the  Nature  and  Immutability  of  Truth  ;  and  Di\  Oswald's  Ap- 
peal to  Common  Sense.  The  purpose  of  this  volume  was  to  re- 
fute the  new  doctrine  of  common  sense,  employed  as  the  criterion 
of  truth  by  the  metaphysicians  of  Scotland,  and  to  prepare  the 
way  for  the  reception  of  the  Hartleian  theory  of  the  human  mind, 
which  he  was  then  engaged  in  presenting  under  a  more  popular 
and  intelligible  form.  They  who  conceive  Dr.  Priestley  to  have 
been  triumphant  in  argument  on  this  occasion,  agree  in  disap- 
proving (as  he  himself  did  afterwards)  the  contempt  and  sar 
casm  with  which  he  treated  his  antagonists,  which  they  do  not 
think  excused  by  the  air  of  arrogance  and  self-sufficiency  as- 
sumed by  these  writers  in  their  strictures  upon  other  reasoners. 
But  this  was  not  the  only  instance  in  which  he  thought  it  allow- 
able to  enliven  the  dryness  of  controversy  by  strokes  of  ridicule. 
He  never  intentionajly  misrepresented  either  the  arguments  or 
the  purposes  of  an  opponent;  but  he  measured  the  respect  with 
which  he  treated  him,  by  that  which  he  felt  for  him  in  his  own 
mind. 

In  his  publication  of  Hartley's  Theory  he  had  expressed  some 
doubts  as  to  the  common  hypothesis,  that  man  possesses  a  soul, 
or  immaterial  substance,  totally  distinct  from  his  body.  For  this 
opinion  he  had  undergone  obloquy  as  a  favourer  of  atheism ;  but 


APPENDIX.  46: 

as  no  personal  imputation  was  of  weight  with  him  in  the  pursuit 
of  what  he  thought  to  be  the  truth,  he  did  not  scruple  in  1777,  to 
publish  Disquisitions  relating  to  Matter  and  Spirit,  in  which  he 
gave  a  history  of  the  philosophical  doctrine  concerning  the  soul, 
and  openly  supported  the  material  system,  which  makes  it  homo- 
geneous with  the  body.  Perhaps,  of  all  Dr.  Priestley's  devia- 
tions from  received  opinions,  this  has  subjected  him  to  the 
greatest  odium,  and  has  most  startled  the  true  friends  of  reason 
and  free  inquiry,  on  account  of  its  supposed  consequences.  The 
natural  proofs  of  a  future  state  appear  to  be  so  much  invalidated 
by  the  rejection  of  a  separate  principle,  the  seat  of  thought, 
which  may  escape  from  the  perishing  body  to  which  it  is  tempo- 
rarily united,  that  he  seemed  to  have  been  employed  in  demo- 
lishing one  of  the  great  pillars  upon  which  religion  is  founded. 
It  is  enough  here  to  observe,  that,  in  Dr.  Priestley's  mind,  the 
deficiency  of  these  natural  proofs  only  operated  as  an  additional 
argument  in  favour  of  revelation  ;  the  necessity  of  which,  to  sup- 
port the  most  important  point  of  human  belief,  was  thereby  ren- 
dered more  strikingly  apparent  It  may  be  added,  that  as  he 
materialised  spirit,  so  he,  in  some  measure,  spiritualised  matter, 
by  assigning  to  it  penetrability  and  other  subtle  qualities. 

At  this  time  he  also  appeared  in  great  force  as  the  champion 
of  the  doctrine  of  philosophical  necessity ;  a  doctrine  not  less 
obnoxious  to  many,  on  account  of  its  supposed  effects  on  morali- 
ty, than  the  former.  To  him,  however,  it  was  the  source  (as  he 
always  asserted)  of  the  highest  satisfaction,  both  religious  and 
moral ;  and  a  number  of  his  followers  have  found  it,  in  like  man- 
ner, compatible  with  all  the  best  principles  of  human  conduct. 
With  his  intimate  friend,  Dr.  Price,  whose  opinions  in  both  the 
last  mentioned  points  were  radically  different  from  his,  a  corres- 
pondence relative  to  them  took  place,  which  was  published  in  a 
volume,  and  affords  a  most  pleasing  example  of  debate,  carried 
on  with  perfect  urbanity,  and  every  token  of  mutual  respect  and 
affection. 

Such  was  the  wonderful  compass  and  versatility  of  his  mind, 
that  at  this  very  period  he  was  carrying  on  that  course  of  dis- 
covery concerning  aeriform  bodies,  which  has  rendered  his  name 
so  illustrious  among  philosophical  chemists.  In  the  Philosophi- 
cal Transactions  for  1773,  we  find  a  paper  containing  "  Obser- 
vation on  different  Kinds  of  Air,"  by  Dr.  Priestley ;  which  ob- 
tained the  honorary  prize  of  Copley's  medal.  These  were  re- 


468  APPENDIX. 

printed,  with  many  important  additions,  in  the  first  volume  oi 
his  Experiments  and  Observations  on  different  Kinds  of  Air,  8vo, 
1774.  A  second  volume  of  this  work  was  published  in  1775,  and 
a  third  in  1777.  To  give  the  slightest  view  of  the  original  mat- 
ter is  these  volumes,  would  occupy  more  time  and  space  than 
this  sketch  permits  ;  but  it  may  with  justice  be  affirmed,  that 
they  added  a  greater  mass  ef  fact  to  the  history  of  aeriform  fluids 
than  the  united  labours  of  all  others  employed  upon  the  same 
subject.  Some  of  the  most  striking  of  his  discoveries  were  those 
of  nitrous,  and  dephlogisticated,  or  pure,  air ;  of  the  restoration 
of  vitiated  air  by  vegetation  ;  of  the  influence  of  light  on  vege- 
tables, and  of  the  effects  of  respiration  upon  the  blood.  In  these 
volumes  he  did  not  attempt  theory  or  systematic  arrangement, 
thinking  that  the  knowledge  of  facts  was  not  sufficiently  ad- 
vanced for  that  purpose  ;  and  he  threw  them  out  hastily  as  new 
matter  occurred,  in  pursuance  of  his  liberal  principle  already 
noticed,  that  fellow-labourers  in  matters  of  science  should  as 
soon  as  possible  be  apprised  of  discoveries  which  might  put  them 
in  the  track  of  making  others. 

The  name  of  Priestley  was  by  these  publications  spread  through 
all  the  enlightened  countries  of  Europe,  and  honours  from  sci- 
entific bodies  in  various  parts  were  accumulated  upon  him.  The 
votaries  of  physical  science  now,  doubtless,  flattered  themselves, 
that  the  ardour  of  his  powerful  mind  was  durably  fixed  upon  the 
advancement  of  natural  philosophy  and  chemistry;  but  an  inti- 
mation at  the  close  of  the  last  volume,  of  his  intention  to  inter- 
mit those  pursuits  in  order  to  engage  in  other  speculative  topics, 
sufficiently  proved  to  all  who  knew,  that  experimental  inquiries 
could  occupy  only  a  secondary  place  in  his  mind.  These  other 
and  more  favourite  topics,  were  the  metaphysical  theories  which 
have  been  already  mentioned,  and  the  theological  discussions 
which  he  resumed  with  fresh  zeal  and  industry.  The  continu- 
ation of  his  Institutes  of  Religion  ;  his  Letters  to  a  Philosophi- 
cal Unbeliever  ,•  his  Harmony  of  the  Evangelists  ;  and  various 
tracts  on  moral  and  religious  topics,  marked  his  return  to  his 
former  studies. 

The  term  of  his  engagement  with  Lord  Shelburne  having  ex- 
pired, Dr.  Priestley,  with  a  pension  for  life  of  150/.  per  annum, 
Avas  at  liberty  to  choose  a  new  situation. 

He  gave  the  preference  to  the  neighbourhood  of  the  populous 
town  of  Birmingham,  chiefly  induced  by  the  advantages  it  afford- 


APPENDIX.  46V 

ed,  from  the  nature  of  its  manufactures,  to  the  pursuit  of  che- 
mical experiments.  It  was  also  the  residence  of  several  men  ot 
science  ;  among  whom  the  names  of  Watt,  Withering,  Bolton, 
and  Keir,  are  well  known  to  the  public.  With  these  he  was  soon 
upon  terms  of  friendly  reciprocation  of  knowledge  and  mutual 
aid  in  research;  and  their  Lunarian  Club  presented  a  constella- 
tion of  talent  which  would  not  easily  have  been  assembled  even 
in  the  metropolis. 

He  had  not  long  occupied  his  new  habitation,  before  he  was 
invited  to  undertake  the  office  of  pastor  to  a  congregation  of 
Dissenters  in  Birmingham,  upon  which  he  entered  with  great  sa- 
tisfaction towards  the  close  of  1780.  He  found  a  society  cordially 
attached  to  his  person  and  doctrines;  and  he  merited  their  es- 
teem by  the  most  assiduous  performance  of  all  the  pastoral  du 
ties.  Some  of  the  most  important  of  his  theological  works  soon 
issued  from  the  Birmingham  press.  Of  these  were  his  Letters 
to  Bishop  Newcome,  on  the  Duration  of  Christ's  Ministry;  and 
his  History  of  the  Corruptions  of  Christianity  ;  afterwards  fol 
lowed  by  his  History  of  Early  Opinions.  Controversies  upon 
theological  topics  multiplied  around  him,  to  all  of  which  he  paid 
the  attention  they  seemed  to  require.  The  warm  disputes  which 
took  place  on  occasion  of  the  applications  of  the  Dissenters  for 
relief  from  the  disabilities  and  penalties  of  the  Corporation  and 
Test  Acts,  supplied  a  new  subject  of  contest  into  which  he  could 
not  forbear  to  enter,  both  as  a  friend  to  toleration  in  general, 
and  as  one  of  the  body  aggrieved.  His  hostility  to  the  Estab- 
lishment became  more  decided,  and  he  appealed  to  the  people  on 
the  points  of  difference,  in  his  Familiar  Letters  to  the  Inhabitants 
of  Birmingham.,  written  with  much  force,  but  with  his  usual  dis- 
regard of  caution. 

Little  has  hitherto  been  said  of  the  political  exertions  of  Dr, 
Priestley,  which,  indeed,  form  no  conspicuous  part  of  his  literary 
life.  He  had  displayed  his  attachment  to  freedom  by  his  Essay 
on  the  first  Principles  of  Government,  and  by  an  anonymous  pam- 
phlet on  the  state  of  public  liberty  in  this  country ;  and  had 
shown  a  warm  interest  in  the  cause  of  America  at  the  time  of  its 
unfortunate  rupture  with  the  mother  country.  The  French  revo- 
lution was  an  event  which  could  scarcely  fail  of  being  contem- 
plated by  him  with  satisfaction.  His  sanguine  hopes  saw  in  if 
the  dawn  of  light  and  liberty  over  Europe;  and  he  particularly 
expected  from  it  the  eventual  downfal  of  all  establishments 


470  APPENDIX, 

inimical  to  the  spread  of  truth.  Such  expectations  he  was  at  no 
pains  to  conceal ;  and  as  parties  now  began  to  take  their  decided 
stations,  and  to  be  inspired  with  all  the  usual  rancour  of  oppo- 
nents in  civil  contests,  he  was  naturally  rendered  a  prominent 
mark  of  party  hatred. 

In  this  state  of  mutual  exasperation,  the  celebration  of  the  an- 
niversary of  the  destruction  of  the  Bastille,  by  a  public  dinner, 
on  July  14th,  1791,  at  which  Dr.  Pii.estley  was  not  present,  gave 
the  signal  of  those  savage  riots,  which  have  thrown  lasting  dis- 
grace on  the  town  of  Birmingham,  and  in  some  degree  on  the 
national  character.  Amid  the  conflagration  of  houses  of  worship 
and  private  dwellings,  Dr.  Priestley  was  the  great  object  of  pop- 
ular rage ;  his  house,  library,  manuscripts,  and  apparatus,  were 
made  a  prey  to  the  flames ;  he  was  hunted  like  a  proclaimed 
criminal,  and  experienced  not  only  the  furious  outrages  of  a  mob, 
but  the  most  unhandsome  treatment  from  some  who  ought  to 
have  sustained  the  parts  of  gentlemen,  and  friends  of  peace  and 
order. 

It  would  be  painful  to  dwell  upon  these  scenes.  Suffice  it  to 
say,  that  he  was  driven  for  ever  from  his  favourite  residence  ;  that 
his  losses  were  very  inadequately  compensated ;  and  that  he 
passed  some  time  as  a  wanderer,  till  an  invitation  to  succeed  Dr. 
Price  in  a  congregation  at  Hackney  gave  him  a  new  settlement. 
This  was  rendered  more  interesting  to  him  by  a  connection  with 
the  new  dissenting-college  established  at  that  place.  His  mind, 
by  its  native  elasticity,  recovered  from  the  shock  of  his  cruel 
losses,  and  he  resumed  his  usual  labours. 

This  was,  however,  far  from  being  a  season  of  tranquillity. 
Parties  ran  high,  and  events  were  daily  taking  place  calculated 
to  agitate  the  mind,  and  inspire  varied  emotions  of  tumultuous 
expectation.  Dr.  Priestley,  however  he  might  be  regarded  by  the 
friends  of  government,  had  no  reason  to  entertain  apprehensions 
for  his  personal  safety  on  the  part  of  authority ;  but  he  was  con- 
scious that  he  lay  under  a  load  of  public  odium  and  suspicion, 
and  he  was  perpetually  harassed  by  the  petty  malignity  of  bigotry. 
Having  so  lately  been  the  victim  of  a  paroxysm  of  popular  rage, 
he  could  not  be  perfectly  easy  in  the  vicinity  of  a  vast  metropo- 
lis, where  any  sudden  impulse  given  to  the  tumultuous  mass 
might  bring  irresistible  destruction  upon  the  heads  of  those  who 
should  be  pointed  out  as  objects  of  vengeance.  It  is  not,  there- 
fore, to  be  wondered  at,  that  he  looked  towards  an  asylum  in  a 


APPENDIX.  471 

country  to  which  he  had  always  shown  a  friendly  attachment,  and 
which  was  in  posses^on  of  all  the  blessings  of  civil  and  religious 
liberty.  Some  family  reasons  also  enforced  this  choice  of  a  new 
situation.  He  took  leave  of  his  native  country  in  1794,  and  em- 
barked  for  North  America.  He  carried  with  him  the  sincere  re- 
grets of  a  great  number  of  venerating  and  affectionate  friends 
and  admirers;  and  his  departure,  while  celebrated  as  a  triumph 
by  unfeeling  bigots,  was  lamented  by  the  moderate  and  impartial, 
as  a  kind  of  stigma  on  the  country  which,  by  its  ill  treatment, 
had  expelled  a  citizen  whom  it  might  enrol  among  its  proudest 
\  boasts. 

Northumberland,  a  town  in  the  inland  parts  of  the  state  of 
Pennsylvania,  was  the  place  in  which  he  fixed  his  residence.  It 
was  selected  on  account  of  the  purchase  of  landed  property  in 
its  neighbourhood  ;  otherwise, its  remoteness  from  the  sea  ports, 
its  want  of  many  of  the  comforts  of  civilised  life,  and  of  all  the 
helps  to  studious  and  scientific  pursuit,  rendered  it  a  peculiarly 
undesirable  abode  for  one  of  Dr.  Priestley's  habits  and  employ- 
ments. The  loss  of  his  excellent  wife,  and  of  a  very  promising 
son,  together  with  repeated  attacks  of  disease  and  other  calami- 
ties, severely  tried  the  fortitude  and  resignation  of  this  Christian, 
philosopher;  but  he  had  within  him  what  rendered  him  superior 
to  all  external  events,  and  pious  serenity  was  the  settled  temper 
of  his  soul. 

In  America  he  was  received,  if  not  with  the  ardour  of  sympa- 
thy and  admiration,  yet  with  general  respect ;  nor  were  the  angry 
contests  of  party  able  lastingly  to  deprive  him  of  the  esteem  due 
to  his  character.  If  he  had  any  sanguine  hopes  of  diffusing  his 
religious  principles  over  the  new  continent ;  or  if  his  friends  ex- 
pected that  the  brilliancy  of  his  philosophical  reputation  should 
place  him  in  a  highly  conspicuous  light  among  a  people  yet  in  the 
infancy  of  mental  culture,  such  expectations  were  certainly  dis- 
appointed. He  was,  however,  heard  as  a  preacher  by  some  of  the 
most  distinguished  members  of  Congress ;  and  he  was  offered, 
but  declined,  the  place  of  chemical  professor  at  Philadelphia.  It 
became  his  great  object  to  enable  himself  in  his  retirement  at 
Northumberland  to  renew  that  course  of  philosophical  experi- 
ment, and  especially  that  train  of  theological  writing,  which  had 
occupied  so  many  of  the  best  years  of  his  life.  By  indefatigable 
pains  he  got  together  a  valuable  apparatus  and  well  furnished 


472  APPENDIX. 

library,  and  cheerfully  returned  to  his  former  employments.  By 
many  new  experiments  on  the  constitution  of  airs,  he  became 
more  and  more  fixed  in  his  belief  of  the  phlogistic  theory,  and  in 
his  opposition  to  the  new  French  chemical  system,  of  which  he 
lived  to  be  the  sole  opponent  of  note.  The  results  of  several  of 
his  inquiries  on  these  topics  were  given,  both  in  separate  publi- 
cations, and  in  the  American  Philosophical  Transactions.  A 
number  of  pamphlets  on  different  occasions  of  controversy  fell 
from  his  pen ;  and  by  his  comparisons  of  the  Jewish  with  the 
Mahometan  and  Hindoo  religions,  and  of  the  characters  of  Christ 
and  Socrates,  he  endeavoured  to  strengthen  the  bulwarks  of  re- 
velation. The  liberal  contributions  of  his  friends  in  England 
enabled  him  to  commence  the  printing  of  two  extensive  works, 
on  which  he  was  zealously  bent,  a  Church  History,  and  an  Ex- 
position of  the  Scriptures  ;  and  through  the  progress  of  his  final 
decline  he  unremittingly  urged  their  completion. 

The  circumstances  attending  the  close  of  his  useful  and  ex- 
emplary life  are  related  with  such  interesting  simplicity  in  the 
following  article  of  the  Philadelphia  Gazette,  that  every  one 
must  receive  pleasure  from  reading  the  narrative  entire. 

"  Since  his  illness  at  Philadelphia,  in  the  year  1801,  he  never 
regained  his  former  good  state  of  health.  His  complaint  was 
constant  indigestion,  and  a  difficulty  of  swallowing  food  of  any 
kind.  But  during  this  period  of  general  debility,  he  was  busily 
employed  in  printing  his  Church  History,  and  the  first  volume 
of  his  Notes  on  the  Scriptures,  and  in  making  new  and  original 
experiments.  During  this  period,  likewise,  he  wrote  his  pam- 
phlet of  Jesus  and  Socrates  compared,  and  re-printed  his  Essay 
on  Phlogiston. 

"From  about  the  beginning  of  November,  1803,  to  the  middle 
of  January,  1804,  his  complaint  grew  more  serious;  yet,  by  ju- 
dicious medical  treatment,  and  strict  attention  to  diet,  he,  after 
some  time,  seemed,  if  not  gaining  strength,  at  least  not  getting 
worse ;  and  his  friends  fondly  hoped  that  his  health  would  con- 
tinue to  improve  as  the  season  advanced.  He,  however,  consi- 
dered his  life  as  very  precarious.  Even  at  this  time,  besides  his 
miscellaneous  reading,  which  was  at  all  times  very  extensive,  he 
read  through  all  the  works  quoted  in  his  Comparison  of  the  dif- 
ferent Systems  of  Grecian  Philosophers  with  Christianity  ;  com- 
posed that  work,  and  transcribed  the  whole  of  it  in  less  than 


APPENDIX.  473 

three  months ;  so  that  he  has  left  it  ready  for  the  press.  During 
this  period  he  composed,  in  one  day,  his  Second  Reply  to  Dr. 
Linn. 

"  In  the  last  fortnight  of  January,  his  fits  of  indigestion  became 
more  alarming,  his  legs  swelled,  and  his  weakness  increased. 
Within  two  days  of  his  death  he  became  so  weak,  that  he  could 
walk  but  a  little  way,  and  that  with  great  difficulty.  For  some 
time  he  found  himself  unable  to  speak  ;  but,  on  recovering  a 
little,  he  told  his  friends,  that  he  had  never  felt  more  pleasantly 
during  his  whole  life  time,  than  during  the  time  he  was  unable 
to  speak.  He  was  fully  sensible  that  he  had  not  long  to  live,  yet 
talked  with  cheerfulness  to  all  who  called  on  him.  In  the  course 
of  the  day  he  expressed  his  thankfulness  at  being  permitted  to 
die  quietly  in  his  family,  without  pain,  and  with  every  conveni- 
ence and  comfort  that  he  could  wish  for.  He  dwelt  upon  the 
peculiarly  happy  situation  in  which  it  had  pleased  the  Divine 
Being  to  place  him  in  life,  and  the  great  advantage  he  had  en- 
joyed in  the  acquaintance  and  friendship  of  some  of  the  best 
and  wisest  men  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  and  the  satis- 
faction he  derived  from  having  led  an  useful  as  well  as  happy 
life.  He  this  day  gave  directions  about  printing  the  remainder 
of  his  Notes  on  Scripture,  (a  work,  in  the  completion  of  which  he 
was  much  interested)  and  looked  over  the  first  sheet  of  the  third 
volume,  after  it  was  corrected  by  those  who  were  to  attend  to  its 
completion,  and  expressed  his  satisfaction  at  the  manner  of  its 
being  executed. 

"  On  Sunday,  the  5th,  he  was  much  weaker,  but  sat  up  in  an 
arm  chair  for  a  few  minutes.  He  desired  that  John,  chap.  xi. 
might  be  read  to  him :  he  stopped  the  reader  at  the  45th  verse, 
dwelt  for  some  time  on  the  advantage  he  had  derived  from  read- 
ing  the  Scriptures  daily,  and  recommended  this  practice,  saying-, 
that  it  would  prove  a  source  of  the  purest  pleasure.  «  We  shall 
all  (said  he'y  meet  finally,  we  only  require  different  degrees  of 
discipline  suited  to  our  different  tempers,  to  prepare  us  for  final 

happiness.'     Mr. coming  into  his  room,  he  said  '  You  see, 

Sir,  I  am  still  living.*  Mr. observed, '  that  he  would  always 

live.'  'Yes,  I  believe  I  shall;  we  shall  meet  again  in  another 
and  a  better  world.'  He  said  this  with  great  animation,  laying 
hold  of  Mr.  — 's  hand  in  both  his  own.  After  evening  prayers, 
when  his  grand -children  were  brought  to  his  bed  side,  he  spoke 
30 


474  APPENDIX. 

to  them  separately,  and  exhorted  them  to  continue  to  love  each 
other,  &c.  '  I  am  going  (added  he)  to  sleep  as  well  as  you,  for 
death  is  only  a  good  long  sound  sleep  in  the  grave,  and  we  shall 
meet  again.' 

"On  Monday  morning,  the  9th  of  February,  on  being  asked 
how  he  did,  he  answered  in  a  faint  voice,  that  he  had  no  pain, 
but  appeared  fainting  away  gradually.  About  eight  o'clock,  he 
desired  to  have  three  pamphlets  which  had  been  looked  out  by 
his  directions  the  evening  before.  He  then  dictated  as  clearly 
and  distinctly  as  he  had  ever  done  in  his  life,  the  additions  and 

alterations  which  he  wished  to  have  made  in  each.  Mr. took 

down  the  substance  of  what  he  said,  which  was  read  to  him.  He 
observed,  '  Kir,  you  have  put  in  your  own  language,  I  wish  it  to 
be  mine?  He  then  repeated  over  again,  nearly  word  for  word, 
what  he  had  before  said,  and  when  it  was  transcribed,  and  read 
over  to  him,  he  said,  '  That  is  right,  I  have  now  done.' 

"  About  half  an  hour  after,  he  desired  that  he  might  be  remov- 
ed to  a  cot.  About  ten  minutes  after  he  was  removed  to  it,  he 
died  ;  but  breathed  his  last  so  easily,  that  those  who  were  sitting 
close  to  him  did  not  immediately  perceive  it.  He  had  put  his 
hand  to  his  face,  which  prevented  them  from  observing  it." 

This  was  indeed  "the  death  of  the  righteous !"  and  it  is  pre- 
sumed, that  no  one  possessed  of  generous  and  tender  feelings, 
how  much  soever  differing  in  opinion  from  the  deceased,  will  re- 
frain from  embalming  his  memory  with  a  tear,  and  crying  "  Peace 
be  with  him !" 

In  Dr.  Priestley's  mental  constitution  were  united  ardour  and 
vivacity  of  intellect,  with  placidity  and  mildness  of  temper. 
With  a  zeal  for  the  propagation  of  truth,  that  would  have  car- 
ried him  through  fire  and  water,  he  joined  a  calm  patience,  an 
unruffled  serenity,  which  rendered  him  proof  against  all  obstruc- 
tions and  disappointments.  It  has  been  suggested,  that  a  man 
so  much  in  earnest,  and  so  vigorous  in  controversial  warfare, 
could  not  fail  of  being  a  persecutor,  should  his  party  gain  the 
superiority :  but  this  was  an  erroneous  supposition.  Not  only 
were  the  rights  of  private  judgment  rendered  sacred  to  him  by 
every  principle  of  his  understanding,  but  his  heart  would  not 
have  suffered  him  to  have  injured  his  bitterest  enemy.  He  was 
naturally  disposed  to  cheerfulness,  and  when  his  mind  was  not 
occupied  with  serious  thoughts,  could  unbend,  with  even  playful 


APPENDIX.  475 

ease  and  negligence,  in  the  private  circle  of  friends.  In  large 
and  mixed  companies  he  usually  spoke  little.  In  the  domestic 
relations  of  life  he  was  uniformly  kind  and  affectionate.  His  pa- 
rental feelings  (alas  !  how  keenly  were  they  excited  !)  were  those 
of  the  tenderest  and  best  of  fathers.  Not  malice  itself  could 
ever  fix  a  stain  on  his  private  conduct,  or  impeach  his  integrity. 
Such  was  the  man  who  adds  one  more  imperishable  name  to 
the  illustrious  dead  of  his  countrv. 


476  APPENDIX. 


(G.  p.  143.) 
MEMOIR 


OF 


DR.    0  U  R  R  I  E, 


JAMES  CURRIE,  M.  D.  was  born  at  Kirkpatrick-Fleming 
in  Dumfriesshire,  on  May  31st,  1756.  His  father  was  the  esta- 
blished minister  of  that  parish,  whence  he  afterwards  removed  to 
that  of  Middlebie.  Dr.  Currie  was  an  only  son  :  of  six  sisters, 
two  alone  are  now  surviving.  He  received  the  rudiments  of 
learning  at  the  parish  school  of  his  native  place,  whence  he  was 
transferred  to  the  grammar  school  of  Dumfries,  one  of  the  most 
reputable  seminaries  of  the  kind  in  Scotland.  His  original  des- 
tination was  for  a  commercial  life,  and  he  passed  some  years  of 
his  youth  in  Virginia  in  a  mercantile  station.  Disliking  this  pro- 
fession, and  unwilling  to  be  a  witness  of  the  impending  troubles 
in  the  American  colonies,  he  quitted  that  country  in  1776,  and 
in  the  following  year  commenced  a  course  of  medical  study  at 
the  university  of  Edinburgh,  which  occupied  him  almost  without 
interruption  for  three  years.  A  prospect  of  an  appointment  in 
the  medical  staff  of  the  army,  which  would  not  admit  of  the  usual 
delay  of  an  Edinburgh  graduation,  induced  him  to  take  the  de- 
gree of  Doctor  of  Physic  at  Glasgow.  He  arrived,  however,  in 
London  too  late  for  the  expected  post;  but  still  determining  to 
go  abroad,  he  had  taken  his  passage  in  a  ship  for  Jamaica,  when 
a  severe  indisposition  prevented  his  sailing,  and  entirely  changed 
his  lot  in  life.  He  renounced  his  first  intention  ;  and,  after  some 
consideration  respecting  an  eligible  settlement,  he  fixed  upon  the 
commercial  and  rapidly  increasing  town  of  Liverpool,  which  be- 
came his  residence  from  the  year  1781. 


APPENDIX.  477 

;  The  liberal  and  enlightened  character  which  has  long  distin- 
guished many  of  the  leading  inhabitants  of  that  place,  rendered 
it  a  peculiarly  favourable  theatre  for  the  display  of  the  moral  and 
intellectual  endowments  for  which  Dr.  Currie  was  conspicuous, 
and  he  soon  rose  into  general  esteem.  Indeed,  it  was  not  pos- 
sible, even  upon  a  casual  acquaintance,  for  a  judge  of  mankind 
to  fail  of  being  struck  by  his  manly  urbanity  of  behaviour,  by  the 
elegance  and  variety  of  his  conversation,  by  the  solid  sense  and 
sagacity  of  his  remarks,  and  by  the  tokens  of  a  feeling  heart, 
which  graced  and  dignified  the  qualities  of  his  understanding. 
No  man  was  ever  more  higlily  regarded  by  his  friends ;  no  phy- 
sician ever  inspired  more  confidence  and  attachment  in  his  pa- 
tients. 

In  1783,  Dr.  Currie  made  a  very  desirable  matrimonial  con- 
nection with  Lucy,  the  daughter  of  William  Wallace,  Esq.  an 
Irish  merchant  in  Liverpool.  Of  this  marriage  a  numerous  and 
amiable  family  v/as  the  fruit,  by  which  his  name  promises  to  be 
worthily  perpetuated.  His  professional  employment  rapidly  in- 
creased ;  he  was  elected  one  of  the  physicians  of  the  Infirmary, 
and  took  his  station  among  the  distinguished  characters  of  the 
place  of  his  residence. 

His  first  appearance  from  the  press  was  on  occasion  of  the  la- 
mented death  of  his  intimate  friend  Dr.  Bell,  a  young  physician 
of  great  hopes  settled  at  Manchester.  His  elegant  and  interest- 
ing tribute  to  the  memory  of  this  person  was  published,  in  1785, 
in  the  first  volume  of  the  Transactions  of  the  Manchester  Philo- 
sophical and  Literary  Society,  of  which  they  were  b< »th  members. 
He  was  elected  a  member  of  the  London  Medical  Society  in  1790, 
and  communicated  to  it  a  paper  "  On  Tetanus  and  Convulsive  Dis- 
orders," published  in  the  third  volume  of  its  Memoirs.  In  1792, 
he  became  a  fellow  of  the  Royal  Society.  A  very  curious  and 
instructive  "  Account  of  the  remarkable  effects  of  a  Shipwreck," 
communicated  by  him  to  that  body,  was  published  in  the  Philo- 
sophical Transactions  of  that  year. 

The  mind-of  Dr.  Currie  was  not  made  to  be  confined  to  a  nar- 
row range  of  speculation,  and  nothing  interesting  to  human  so- 
ciety was  indifferent  to,  or  unconsidered  by  him.  The  war  with 
France  consequent  to  its  great  revolutionary  struggle,  was  re- 
garded by  him,  as  it  was  by  many  other  philanthropists,  with  dis- 
approbation, with  respect  as  well  to  its  principles,  as  to  its  pro- 
bable effect  on  the  happiness  of  both  countries.  A  pamphlet 


478  APPENDIX. 

which  appeared  in  1793,  under  the  title  of  &  Letter  Commercial 
and  Political  addressed  to  the  Right  Hon.  William  Pitt,  by  Jas- 
per Wilson,  Esq.  was  generally  understood  to  proceed  from  hi? 
pen.  ,  The  energy  of  language,  the  weight  of  argument,  and  the 
extent  of  information  displayed  in  it,  drew  upon  it  a  large  share 
of  notice.  It  soon  attained  a  second  edition,  and  various  answers 
attested  the  degree  of  importance  attached  to  it  in  the  public 
estimation.  One  of  the  respondents  took  the  unwarrantable  li- 
berty of  directly  addressing  Dr.  Currie,  in  print,  as  the  author, 
at  the  same  time  affecting  on  very  slender  grounds  the  famili- 
arity of  an  intimate  acquaintance.  It  can  scarcely  be  doubted 
that  this  infringement  of  the  rules  of  liberal  controversy  was 
prompted  by  the  malignant  purpose  of  exposing  Dr.  Currie  to 
popular  odium,  and  injuring  him  in  his  profession.  He  under- 
stood it  thus,  but  the  particular  line  of  his  principal  connections, 
together  with  the  solid  basis  of  the  character  he  had  established, 
enabled  him  to  despise  the  efforts  of  party  malice. 

The  greater  distinction  a  professional  man  acquires  from  pur- 
suits not  belonging  to  his  profession,  the  more  necessary  it  be- 
comes for  him  to  bring  himself  into  notice  as  a  successful  votary 
of  the  art  or  science  to  which  his  primary  attention  is  due.  Of 
this  point  Dr.  Currie  was  very  far  from  being  neglectful.  To 
those  who  employed  him  he  was  abundantly  known  as  a  skilful 
and  sedulous  practitioner,  and  the  medical  papers  he  had  already 
published  gave  him  reputation  among  his  brethren.  This  repu- 
tation was  widely  extended  and  raised  to  an  eminent  degree  by 
a  publication  which  first  appeared  in  October,  1797,  entitled, 
Medical  Reports  on  the  Effects  of  Water  cold  and  warm  as  a  Re- 
medy in  Febrile  Diseases  ;  with  Observations  on  the  Nature  of 
Fever,  and  on  the  Effects  of  Opium,  Alcohol,  and  Inanition.  The 
practice  of  affusion  of  cold  water  in  fevers,  which  is  the  leading 
topic  in  this  work,  was  suggested  to  the  author  by  Dr.  Wright's 
narrative  in  the  London  Medical  Journal  of  his  successful  treat- 
ment of  a  fever  in  a  homeward  bound  ship  from  Jamaica.  Dr. 
Currie  copied  and  greatly  extended  it,  and  investigated  the  prin- 
ciples by  which  its  use  should  be  directed  and  regulated.  He 
discovered  that  the  safety  and  advantage  of  the  application 
of  cold  was  proportionate  to  the  existing  augmentation  of  the 
animal  heat,  and  he  found  the  thermometer  a  very  valuable  in- 
strument to  direct  the  practitioner's  judgment  in  febrile  cases. 
He  may,  therefore,  be  considered  as  the  principal  author  of  a 


APPENDIX,  479 

practice  which  has  already  been  attended  \vith  extraordinary 
success  in  numerous  instances,  and  bids  fair  to  prove  one  of  the 
greatest  medical  improvements  in  modern  times.  The  work, 
which  contained  many  ingenious  speculations  and  valuable  ob- 
servations, was  very  generally  read  and  admired.  A  new  vol- 
ume was  added  to  it  in  1804,  consisting  of  much  interesting, 
matter  on  different  topics,  especially  in  confirmation  of  the  doc 
trine  and  practice  of  the  former  volume  respecting  cold  affusion, 
The  free  and  successful  employment  of  this  remedy  in  the  scar 
latina  was  one  of  its  most  important  articles.  The  author  had 
the  satisfaction  of  receiving  numerous  acknowledgments  of  the 
benefit  derived  from  his  instructions  both  in  private  and  in  naval 
and  military  practice.  He  himself  was  so  much  convinced  of" 
the  utility  of  the  methods  he  recommended,  that  a  revision  of 
the  whole  work  for  a  new  edition  was  one  of  the  latest  labours  of 
his  life. 

Dr.  Currie  might  now,  without  danger  to  his  professional  cha- 
racter, indulge  his  inclination  for  the  ornamental  parts  of  litera- 
ture ;  and  an  occasion  offered  in  which  he  had  the  happiness  of 
rendering  his  taste  and  his  benevolence  equally  conspicuous.  On 
a  visit  to  his  native  country  in  1792,  he  had  become  personally 
acquainted  with  that  rustic  son  of  genius  Robert  Burns.  This 
extraordinary  but  unfortunate  man  having,  at  his  death,  left  his 
family  in  great  indigence,  a  subscription  was  made  in  Scotland 
for  their  immediate  relief,  and  at  the  same  time  a  design  was 
formed  of  publishing  an  edition  of  his  printed  works  and  remains 
for  their  emolument.  Mr.  Syme  of  Ryedale,  an  old  and  intimate 
friend  of  Dr.  Currie,  strongly  urged  him  to  undertake  the  office 
of  editor ;  and  to  this  request,  in  which  other  friends  of  the  poet's 
memory  concurred,  he  could  not  withhold  his  acquiescence,  not- 
withstanding his  multiplied  engagements.  In  1800,  he  published 
in  4  volumes,  8vo.  The  Works  of  Robert  Burns,  with  an  Account 
oj  his  Life,  and  a  Criticism  on  his  Writings  :  to  which  are  pre- 
fixed some  Observations  on  the  Character  and  Condition  of  the 
Scottish  Peasantry.  These  volumes  were  a  rich  treat  to  the  lo- 
vers of  poetry  and  elegant  literature  ;  and  Dr.  Currie's  part  in 
them,  as  a  biographer  and  critic,  was  greatly  admired,  as  well 
for  beauty  of  style  as  for  liberality  of  sentiment  and  sagacity  of 
remark.  If  any  objection  was  made  to  him  as  an  editor  on  ac- 
count of  unnecessary  extension  of  the  materials,  the  kind  purpose 
for  which  the  publication  was  undertaken  pleaded  his  excuse  with 


480  APPENDIX. 

all  who  are  capable  of  feeling  its  force.  Its  success  fully  equal- 
led the  most  sanguine  expectations. — Repeated  editions  produ- 
ced a  balance  of  profit  which  formed  a  little  fortune  for  the  des- 
titute family;  and  Dr.  Currie  might  congratulate  himself  on 
having  been  one  of  the  most  effectual  friends  of  departed  genius 
that  the  annals  of  British  poetry  record. 

Every  plan  for  promoting  liberal  studies  and  the  improvement 
of  the  human  mind  had  in  him  a  zealous  and  active  supporter. 
In  the  formation  of  those  literary  institutions  which  have  done 
so  much  honour  to  the  town  of  Liverpool,  he,  with  his  intimate 
and  congenial  friend,  the  distinguished  author  of  the  Lives  of 
Lorenzo  de*  Medici  and  Leo  X.,  stood  among  the  foremost ;  and 
their  names  were  always  conjoined  when  mention  was  made  of 
the  worth  and  talents  which  dignified  their  place  of  abode.  No 
cultivated  traveller  visited  Liverpool  without  soliciting  Dr.  Cur- 
rie's  acquaintance,  and  his  reception  of  those  introduced  to  him 
was  eminently  polite  and  hospitable. 

In  his  Life  of  Burns,  remarking  upon  that  partiality  for  their 
own  country  which  appears  almost  universally  in  the  natives  of 
Scotland,  he  has  observed,  that  "it  differs  in  its  character  ac- 
cording to  the  character  of  the  different  minds  in  which  it  is 
found  ;  in  some  appearing  a  selfish  prejudice,  in  others  a  gene- 
rous affection."     He  was  himself  a  striking  exemplification  of 
this  fact;  for  the  sentiment  in  him  was  principally  shown  in  the 
kindness  with  which  he  received  all  his  young  countrymen  who 
came  recommended  to  his  notice,  and  the  zeal  with  which  he  ex- 
erted himself  to  procure  them  situations  suited  to  their  qualifi- 
cations.    Indeed,  a  disposition  in  general  to  favour  the  progress 
of  deserving  young  persons  was  a  prominent  feature  in  his  cha- 
racter.    He  loved  to  converse  with  them,  and  mingled  valuable 
information  with  cheering  encouragement. 

Though  externally  of  a  vigorous  frame  of  body,  Dr.  Currie  had 
a  predisposition  to  those  complaints  which  usually  shorten  life  ; 
and  in  the  year  1784  he  had  experienced  a  pulmonary  attack  of 
an  alarming  nature,  from  which  he  was  extraordinarily  recovered 
by  the  use  of  horse-exercise,  as  related  by  himself  in  his  case  in- 
serted in  the  second  volume  of  Dr.  Darwin's  Zoonomia.  He  was, 
however,  seldom  long  free  from  threatenings  of  a  return,  and  his 
health  began  visibly  to  decline  in  the  early  part  of  1804.  In  the 
summer  of  that  year  he  took  a  journey  to  Scotland,  where  among 
other  sources  of  gratification  he  had  that  of  witnessing  the  happy 


APPENDIX.  481 

effects  of  his  kindness  on  the  family  of  Burns.  His  letters  on 
this  occasion  were  delightful  displays  of  benevolence  rejoicing 
in  its  work.  He  returned  with  some  temporary  amendment ; 
but  alarming  symptoms  soon  returned,  and  in  November  he 
found  it  necessary  to  quit  the  climate  and  business  of  Liverpool. 
How  severely  his  departure  was  felt  by  those  who  had  been  ac- 
customed to  commit  their  health  and  that  of  their  families  to  his 
skill  and  tenderness,  can  only  be  estimated  by  those  who  have 
experienced  a  similar  loss.  He  spent  the  winter  alternately  at 
Clifton  and  Bath  ;  and  in  the  month  of  March  appeared  to  him- 
self in  a  state  of  convalescence  which  justified  his  taking  a  house 
in  Bath,  and  commencing  the  practice  of  his  profession.  From 
the  manner  in  which  his  career  opened,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that  it  would  have  proved  eminently  successful ;  but  the  con- 
cluding scene  was  hastily  approaching.  As  a  last  resource  he 
went  in  August  to  Sidrnouth,  where,  after  much  suffering,  which 
he  bore  with  manly  fortitude  and  pious  resignation,  he  expired 
on  August  31st,  1805,  in  the  50th  year  of  his  age.  His  disease 
was  ascertained  to  be  a  great  enlargement  and  flaccidity  of  the 
heart,  accompanied  with  remarkable  wastings  of  the  left  lung 
but  without  ulceration,  tubercle,  or  abscess. 

Few  men  have  left  the  world  with  a  more  amiable  and  estima- 
ble character,  proved  in  every  relation  of  life  public  and  domes- 
tic. In  his  professional  conduct  he  was  upright,  liberal,  and 
honourable,  with  much  sensibility  for  his  patients  without  the  af- 
fectation of  it ;  fair  and  candid  towards  his  brethren  of  the  fa- 
culty ;  and  though  usually  decided  in  his  opinion,  yet  entirely 
free  from  arrogance  or  dogmatism.  His  behaviour  was  singularly 
calculated  to  convert  rivals  into  friends  ;  and  some  of  those  who 
regarded  him  with  the  greatest  esteem  and  affection  have  been, 
the  persons  who  divided  practice  with  him.  To  his  character  in 
this  point  a  most  honourable  testimony  has  been  given  in  a  short 
article  inserted  in  a  Bath  newspaper  by  the  worthy  and  learned 
Dr.  Falconer.  His  powers  of  mind  were  of  the  highest  rank, 
equally  fitted  for  action  and  speculation :  his  morals  were  pure; 
his  principles  exalted.  His  life,  though  much  too  short  to  satisfy 
the  wishes  of  his  friends  and  family,  was  long  enough  for  signal 
usefulness  and  for  lasting  fame. 


3P 


482  APPENDIX. 


(H.  p.  145.) 
MEMOIR 


OF 


MR.    WALKER. 


THE  REV.  GEORGE  WALKER,  F.  R.  S.  whose  death  has 
been  sincerely  lamented  by  a  number  of  affectionate  relatives 
and  friends,  was  born  about  the  year  1734,  at  Newcastle-upon- 
Tyne,  in  which  town  his  father  was  a  respectable  tradesman.  He 
was  sent  at  an  early  age  to  the  free-school  of  his  native  place, 
then  under  the  care  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Moises.  In  this  seminary  he 
gave  very  early  tokens  of  an  uncommon  capacity  for  literary 
acquirements ;  and  passed  some  years  with  the  advantage  that 
might  be  expected  under  a  master  whose  professional  reputation 
was  very  high,  and  whose  success  in  instruction  has  been  proved 
by  the  eminence  to  which  several  of  his  pupils  have  risen,  among 
whom  may  be  enumerated  the  present  Lord  Chancellor,  and  his 
brother  Sir  Wm.  Scott.  It  may  be  interesting  to  mention  that 
Mr.  Walker,  four  years  before  his  death,  visited  his  first  vene- 
rable instructor,  then  in  extreme  old  age,  who  gave  him  a  most 
cordial  reception,  and  spoke  of  him  as  one  whom  he  had  a  pride 
in  numbering  among  his  scholars,  and  who  had  fully  realised  his 
expectation  concerning  his  future  proficiency. 

At  the  age  of  ten,  he  was  sent  to  his  uncle,  the  Rev.  Thomas 
Walker,*  a  dissenting  minister  of  great  respectability  at  Dur- 
ham, who  had  hitherto  directed  his  education,  and  continued  to 
superintend  it,  with  the  view  of  fitting  him  for  his  own  profes- 


*  This  gentleman,  though  highly  esteemed  among  his  brethren,  was  known  to  the 
public  only  by  a  single  sermon  preached  at  the  opening  of  the  new  meeting  at 
Wakefield  in  the  year  1752. 


APPENDIX.  483 

sion.  In  this  city  he  pursued  his  classical  studies  in  the  gram- 
mar-school, then  flourishing  under  a  head-master  of  great  abili- 
ties, whom  his  scholar  always  recollected  with  a  kind  of  enthu- 
siastic veneration.  He  was  thoroughly  grounded  in  the  Greek 
and  Latin  languages,  and  was,  besides  furnished  with  much  ge- 
neral knowledge  from  his  uncle's  instructions,  when  he  was  re- 
moved to  the  university  of  Edinburgh.  He  was  there  a  pupil  of 
that  eminent  mathematician  Dr.  Matthew  Stewart,  from  whom 
he  imbibed  that  pure  and  elegant  taste  in  mathematical  specula- 
tions, by  which  both  tutor  and  pupil  have  been  so  much  distin- 
guished. He  did  not,  however,  find  this  school  favourable  to 
those  theological  studies  on  which  his  mind  was  principally  u^nt; 
and  he  removed  to  the  university  of  Glasgow,  then  in  reputation 
for  its  lectures  in  divinity  and  moral  philosophy,  and  there  com- 
pleted his  education. 

Mr.  Walker's  first  settlement  as  a  minister  was  at  Durham, 
about  the  year  1756,  as  successor  to  his  uncle,  who  had  removed 
to  Leeds.  He  continued  there  about  seven  years,  and  then  ac- 
cepted an  invitation  to  Great  Yarmouth.  Of  the  general  respect 
and  esteem  which  he  enjoyed  in  that  place  during  a  residence  of 
several  years,  there  are  many  still  living  witnesses.  Few  men, 
indeed,  have  been  better  qualified  to  shine  and  interest  in  soci- 
ciety.  Well  acquainted  with  all  the  best  authors,  especially  in 
history,  ancient  and  modern ;  accustomed  to  free  and  enlarged 
discussion  of  topics  of  the  greatest  importance  to  mankind;  and 
gifted  with  a  warm  and  copious  eloquence  ;  he  attracted  general 
notice  and  deference  in  conversation.  At  the  same  time,  his 
thoroughly  amiable  and  benevolent  disposition,  his  cheerful,  open, 
and  companionable  nature,  and  his  unaffected  simplicity,  endear- 
ed him  in  an  uncommon  degree  to  all  within  the  sphere  of  his 
intimacy.  He  married  at  Yarmouth  in  1772,  and  not  long  after 
removed  to  Warrington,  as  mathematical  tutor  in  the  academy 
at  that  place. 

To  the  affection  and  regard  which  he  inspired  in  the  breasts 
of  all  with  whom  he  was  connected  in  that  institution,  I  can  bear 
a  heartfelt  testimony ;  and  I  had  the  happiness  of  being  one  of 
the  social  circle  to  which  he  imparted  so  much  animation.  He 
had,  unfortunately,  too  much  cause  to  be  dissatisfied  by  the  fail- 
ure of  the  moderate  expectations  of  emolument  which  were  held 
out  to  him  on  his  removal.  I  know  not  that  blame  was  imputa- 
ble  to  any  individual  on  this  account ;  but,  in  fact,  the  alma  mater 


484  APPENDIX. 

of  Warnngton  was  ever  a  niggardly  recompense!'  of  the  distiu 
guished  abilities  and  virtues  which  were  enlisted  in  her  service. 
Mr.  Walker,  while  a  single  man,  had  exercised  a  prudent  econo- 
my, which  had  enabled  him  to  collect  a  valuable  library,  and  also 
to  indulge  his  taste  for  prints,  of  which  he  possessed  a  number 
of  specimens  from  the  early  Italian  and  other  masters,  purchased 
with  judgment,  and  at  a  price  greatly  inferior  to  that  which  they 
at  present  bear.  As  a  house-keeper,  his  inclination  led  him  to  a 
boundless  hospitality ;  and  though  his  personal  habits  of  life 
were  simple  and  unexpensive,  in  the  calls  of  charity  and  of  so- 
cial entertainment  he  knew  no  stint.  At  what  period  he  became 
a  fellow  of  the  Royal  Society,  I  am  uninformed  ;  but  he  was  so 
when  he  printed  at  Warrington  his  Doctrine  of  the  Sphere,  a  4to. 
volume,  published  in  1775,  with  many  plates  of  a  peculiar  con- 
struction, and  which  cost  much  labour.  This  is  considered  by 
the  best  judges  as  a  very  complete  treatise  on  the  subject,  and 
an  example  of  the  purest  method  of  geometrical  demonstration. 

He  removed,  about  the  beginning  of  1775,  to  Nottingham,  to 
occupy  the  station  of  one  of  the  ministers  of  the  High  Pavement 
meeting.  This  town  was  the  place  of  his  longest  residence,  and 
the  scene  of  his  principal  activity  and  usefulness  as  a  public  cha- 
racter. Mr.  Walker  had  long  been  a  deep  thinker  upon  political 
subjects,  and  had  imbibed,  with  all  the  ardour  and  decision  of 
his  character,  those  principles  of  civil  and  religious  liberty  which 
are  by  many  regarded  as  fundamental  to  a  free  constitution,  and 
of  the  highest  importance  to  human  society.  Nottingham  is  one 
of  the  few  places  in  this  kingdom  in  which  such  principles  are 
allied  to  municipal  power  and  magistracy;  he  had  therefore  a 
large  field  for  extending  the  influence  of  his  knowledge  and  elo- 
quence over  public  assemblies.  As  the  period  of  his  residence 
there  comprehended  the  whole  of  the  American  war,  the  efforts 
made  for  the  reform  of  parliament,  the  first  applications  for  the 
abolition  of  the  slave  trade,  and  the  discussion  of  various  other 
important  points, — his  advice  and  assistance  were  frequently 
called  for  in  the  political  measures  adopted  by  the  town  and  cor- 
poration of  Nottingham ;  and  nearly  all  the  petitions  which  at 
different  times  were  thence  addressed  to  the  king  and  the  house 
of  commons  were  the  productions  of  his  pen,  and  were  marked 
with  his  characteristic  energy  of  language  and  sentiment.  One 
of  these,  the  petition  for  recognising  American  independence, 
made  such  an  impression  on  the  mind  of  Mr.  Burke,  then  a  dis 


i 

APPENDIX.  485 

tinguished  champion  of  the  same  cause,  that  in  the  debate  con- 
sequent upon  it  he  declared  he  had  rather  have  been  the  author 
of  that  piece  than  of  all  his  own  compositions.  Although,  in  the 
contest  of  parties,  the  zeal  and  warmth  of  Mr.  Walker  necessa- 
rily gave  much  occasional  offence  to  persons  in  opposite  inter- 
ests, yet  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  and  the  even  playful  ease  and 
cheerfulness  of  his  social  conversation,  softened  animosity,  and 
would  not  permit  those  to  hate  the  man,  who  hated  his  princi- 
ples. It  is  needless  to  add,  that  by  those  who  agreed  with  him 
in  sentiments  he  was  beloved  and  valued  to  the  borders  of  en- 
thusiasm. 

The  death  of  some  of  his  most  intimate  friends,  and  the  pros 
pect  of  extending  his  usefulness  in  a  different  sphere  of  action, 
induced  him,  after  a  residence  of  24  years  at  Nottingham,  to  ac 
cept  the  post  of  theological  tutor  and  superintendant  of  the  dis- 
senting academy  at  Manchester,  which  was  in  some  degree  the 
successor  of  that  at  Warrington,  though  upon  a  more  contracted 
scale.  Although,  in  point  of  extent  of  knowledge,  and  disinter- 
ested zeal  in  performing  the  duties  of  his  office,  Mr.  Walker  was 
excellently  qualified  for  such  a  situation,  yet  it  must  be  confessed 
that  an  habitual  want  of  punctuality,  and  a  forgetfulness  of  en- 
gagements occasioned  by  the  ardour  with  which  he  entered  into 
any  present  subject  of  meditation  or  discussion,  were  unfavour- 
able to  the  maintenance  of  that  order  and  discipline  which  are 
essential  to  an  institution  for  education.  His  advancing  years 
likewise  rendered  the  labours  of  such  a  charge  more  onerous  to 
him  ;  and  at  the  same  time  the  institution  was  languishing  under 
some  external  causes  of  decline.  At  length,  the  whole  burthen 
of  theological,  classical,  and  mathematical  tuition  having  fallen 
upon  him,  he  found  himself  unequal  to  the  task,  and  finally  re- 
signed his  office.  It  should  be  added,  that  during  his  residence 
at  Manchester,  he  was  an  active  member  of  the  Literary  and 
Philosophical  Society  of  that  Place,  before  which  he  read  seve- 
ral papers,  and  which,  upon  the  decease  of  Dr.  Percival,  chose 
him  for  its  president. 

His  final  removal  was  to  the  village  of  Wavertree,  near  Liver- 
pool, which  situation  was  selected  by  him  on  account  of  its  vicin- 
ity to  some  warm  and  congenial  friends,  with  whom  he  hoped  to 
spend  the  tranquil  evening  of  his  days.  His  principal  employ- 
ment here  was  to  revise  and  put  in  order  his  various  composi- 
tions both  printed  and  manuscript.  He  had  published  several 


486  APPENDIX. 

single  sermons  on  particular  occasions  while  at  Nottingham,  and 
had  printed  two  volumes  of  sermons  in  1790.  These  were  all 
distinguished  by  singular  spirit  and  vivacity  of  expression,  and  a 
manly,  fervid,  and  original  cast  of  thought.  He'had  also  writ- 
ten an  Appeal  to  the  People  of  England  upon  the  subject  of  the 
test  laws,  which  was  considered  as  a  piece  of  peculiar  excellence 
by  that  liberal  and  enlightened  statesman,  the  late  Mr.  Fox. 
Besides  his  work  on  the  Sphere,  he  had  published  the  first  part 
of  a  Treatise  of  Conic  Sections,  a  work  worthy  of  his  mathema- 
tical reputation.*  The  re-publication  of  his  Sermons,  with  the 
addition  of  two  more  volumes,  and  also  of  two  volumes  of  Philo- 
losophical  Essays,  was  an  important  concern  which  brought  him 
to  London  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1807. 

Soon  after  his  arrival  I  was  favoured  with  a  visit  from  him,  of 
great  cordiality,  in  which  he  pathetically  observed  that  we  two 
were  the  only  remaining  relics  of  the  Warrington  academical 
society.  Indeed,  it  has  been  my  lot,  since  the  year  1797,  to  la- 
ment in  private,  and  publicly  to  commemorate,  three  distinguish- 
ed members  of  the  same  fraternity,  (Dr.  Enfield,  Dr.  Priestley, 
and  Mr.  Wakefield)  besides  the  excellent  person  who  now  em- 
ploys my  pen.  Mr.  Walker  appeared  to  me  not  at  all  declined 
in  health  and  spirits  since  last  I  saw  him,  though  with  some 
marks  of  increased  age.  He  himself,  however,  was  probably 
conscious  of  more  debility  than  was  apparent ;  for  he  dropped 
several  expressions  denoting  that  he  did  not  expect  long  to  sur- 
vive. He  was  soon  after  attacked  with  what  seemed  to  be  a  se- 
vere lumbago,  which  rendered  motion  extremely  painful,  and  fix- 
ed him,  at  first,  to  his  chair,  and  then  to  his  bed.  His  recollec- 
tion at  the  same  time  became  sensibly  impaired,  and,  at  length, 
totally  left  him.  Under  these  symptoms  he  rapidly  sunk;  and 


*  The  following  remarkable  circumstance  relative  to  this  work  has  been  related 
to  me  by  W.  Frend,  Esq.  When  Mr.  Frend  was  in  Germany,  he  accidentally  met 
with  a  copy  of  a  Treatise  on  Conic  Sections,  by  Father  Boscovich,  with  which  he 
was  so  much  pleased,  that  on  his  return  he  made  it  the  foundation  of  the  lectures  on 
that  subj>  et  which  he  gave  as  a  public  tutor  in  the  University  of  Cambridge.  When 
he  lost  that  situation,  he  presented  his  mathematical  papers  to  his  successor,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Newton,  who  drew  up  a  work  on  Conic  Sections  upon  the  plan  thus  derived 
from  Boscovich.  This  was  offered  to  the  university  press  just  at  the  time  when  Mr. 
Walker  presented  to  the  curators  an  original  work  on  that  subject  for  the  same  pur- 
pose. This  was  found  so  much  to  resemble  the  other  (though  Mr.  W.  had  cer- 
tainly never  seen  the  work  of  Boscovich,)  I  hat  the  university  thought  it  superfluous 
in  print  both,  and  naturally  gave  the  preference  to  that  of  its  own  member. 


APPENDIX.  487 

en  the  morning  of  April  21st,  after  an  act  of  fervent  prayer,  ex- 
pressed by  his  folded  hands  when  the  power  of  articulation  was 
nearly  gone,  he  calmly  resigned  his  soul  to  his  Maker.  From 
the  house  of  his  kind  friend  and  former  pupil.  Mr.  Smith  of  Dra- 
per's-hall  with  whom  he  had  been  a  guest,  his  remains  were  car- 
ried, with  a  respectable  attendance  of  friends,  for  interment  in 
Bunhill-fields.  He  left  a  widow,  together  with  one  son,  and  a 
daughter  married  to  Sir  George  Cayley,  Bart,  of  Brompton- 
house,  near  Scarborough. 

I  cannot  close  this  account  without  adding  a  sketch  of  Mr. 
Walker's  character  from  the  masterly  hand  of  a  friend  who  re- 
sembled him  in  several  striking  features,  the  late  Gilbert  Wake- 
field.  In  his  Memoirs,  after  giving  a  just  estimate  of  Mr.  Walk- 
er's intellectual  talents  and  attainments,  he  thus  proceeds:  "  But 
these  qualifications,  great  and  estimable  as  they  are,  constitute 
but  a  mean  portion  of  his  praise.  Art  thou  looking,  reader !  like 
JSsop  in  the  fable,  for  a  MAN  ?  Dost  thou  want  an  intrepid  spi- 
rit in  the  cause  of  truth,  liberty,  and  virtue — an  undeviating  rec- 
titude of  action — a  boundless  hospitality — a  mind  infinitely  su- 
perior to  every  sensation  of  malice  and  resentment — a  breast 
susceptible  of  the  truest  friendship,  and  overflowing  with  the  milk 
of  human  kindness — an  ardour,  an  enthusiasm,  in  laudable  pur- 
suits, characteristic  of  magnanimity — an  unwearied  assiduity, 
even  to  hi&  own  hindrance,  in  public  service  ?  My  experience 
can  assure  thee,  that  rtij  pursuit  may  cease,  thy  doubts  be  ban- 
ished, and  thy  hopes  realised  :  for  this  is  the  man." 

To  such  praise,  which  honours  equally  the  giver  and  the  re- 
ceiver, it  would  be  impertinent  to  make  any  other  addition  than 
a  testimony  of  its  justice. 


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